


Of Butterfly Kisses and Milk Tea

by kyojinouji



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Childhood Friends, Death, Drug Abuse, Graphic Violence, Heavy Angst, Heavy topics, I have an entire fic about that already if you’re in the market for it, Improper Use of a Dark Room, Inspired by Life Is Strange, Kidnapping, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Drug Addiction, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Suicide, Supernatural Elements, There is NOTHING Happy in this fic, Violence, and i am so sorry, no time travel tho, there's lots of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:07:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25199758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyojinouji/pseuds/kyojinouji
Summary: Living abroad should have changed things. And yet, standing before his empty childhood home, he knows that only in another universe would things have been different.Equipped with an ancient polaroid camera, Seonghwa is happy to walk the train tracks through the woods every day; if a particular redheaded spitfire and his artsy group of friends are by his side.Taking pictures is the best way to keep memories safe forever. And sometimes, it's easier to accept that you're never going to be alone again; even when those closest to you begin to disappear one by one.☽ Inspired by Life is Strange. This fic is full of triggering material. Please pay attention to the warnings. The first chapter can be read as a one-shot. ☾
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Kang Yeosang, Choi San/Jeong Yunho/Jung Wooyoung, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 23
Kudos: 57





	1. FORGET ME NOT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ☽ TW: Rape, Abuse, Suicide, Self-harm, Drug Abuse, Past Addiction, Death, Violence, Kidnapping  
> PLEASE do not read this if any of these topics are even slightly triggering for you. While the first chapter does not include these topics, the rest of the fic will be dependent on them. However, the first chapter can be read as a one-shot. This is not a happy story. If you have played/interacted with Life is Strange, the triggers will be happening in almost the exact same way.  
> Always care for your mental health and do not force yourself to read something that can potentially damage you. I care about all of my readers very dearly and only want the best for you. ☾

☽

> _ “Michigan's in the rearview now. _
> 
> _ Keep your hands where I can see them. _
> 
> _ You took the words right out of my mouth; _
> 
> _ when you knew that I would need them. _
> 
> _ What am I supposed to do now, without you?” _
> 
> **_Michigan_ ** _ \- The Milk Carton Kids _
> 
> * * *

**_EIGHT_ **

If you had told Park Seonghwa that flowers bloomed from the cracks of sidewalks only when there was misfortune, he would believe you. The overflowing fissures in front of his house and leading the way up his family’s concrete drive were like small forests. If one looked close enough, they might catch a glimpse of a faery skipping stones in the dew drops. Maybe that would explain why he sat on the cobblestones that made a makeshift path through his mother’s front garden, searching intently for anything that wasn’t within himself already, and wondering when the day would come that he would no longer be afraid of the dark.

School had never been interesting. Day in and day out, the building threatened to suffocate him beneath the weight of printouts and leather bound books. They had always promised that classes would go faster the older you got, the further down the line, but the idea seemed ridiculous. Time never went any faster. That was the whole point. 

Maybe at eight, you were not meant to be so particular. His mother always said that he was far too smart for his age. His mother also said that he should never speak to strangers, but how else was one to make friends? He was impossibly shy, but the concept always inspired him. Even the old polaroid camera, the one that his mother gave him for his birthday, could not find enough subjects to photograph when he did not make the effort to actually meet any. Nonetheless, he knelt down to touch the soft blades of grass blanketing his yard. An ant, no larger than the tip of his fingernail, picks its way along them like a tiny adventurer. The natural world around the beast is his oyster, and immediately, Seonghwa shoves the gritty lens of the camera into the insect’s space. Just as the flash bolts off and a click resounds through the air, signifying the newest edition to his growing wall of film, the ant tumbles from its perch. 

Seonghwa almost feels bad for it. Afterall, the work it seemed to put forth into climbing that high was wasted. With a frown, he leans just close enough, butting his finger against the creature, and lets it climb onto the flesh. Its tiny feet patter across the hard skin of his nail as he lifts it to a higher vantage point. In the meantime, the camera spits out the polaroid like a crane-game reward. Excitedly, he reaches for the photograph with a grin, shaking it quickly, despite the warnings that his mother gave him over and over. 

“Shaking it doesn’t make it develop faster,” a distant voice says from the edge of his yard. Startled, Seonghwa’s head flies up to meet the stare of a boy, no older than him, lingering nearby. “I don’t know much about cameras, but my dad always says that doesn’t work.”

“I know,” Seonghwa says quietly, not taking his gaze off of the dainty human. “My parents told me to stop doing it, but it makes me feel better, so…” His voice carries off. The boy takes a step closer and the first thing Seonghwa can focus on is the gap-toothed grin he spits back his way. “I’m Park Seonghwa.” 

“Kim Hongjoong,” the boy says, finally moving at a regular pace. When he reaches Seonghwa, he immediately drops to his knees in the grass with a dull thud. “You’re a year ahead of me in school. I live down the street.” His black hair falls into his eyes messily as the corners crinkle up like forgotten paper. “Do you like pirates?”

They became quick friends. Nearly every day, the two tormented each other with loud laughter and sweet words. It was the sense of childish innocence that consumed them as a whole. Everything naive and wonderful in the world seemed to fill their lives daily. The Kim’s were like a second family to Seonghwa. In the same way, his own parents coddled Hongjoong as though he was their fourth son. 

Hongjoong’s father was an avid photographer. When Seonghwa was not at home or creating an advanced imaginary world full of siren songs and devious sea-wars, he was sitting beside the eldest Kim with a smile on his face. He was the first to teach Seonghwa the ways of a darkroom and the same to console him when Hongjoong disappeared for the first time. 

“He does this, Hwa,” the man said one night as both of their families walked the distance of the nearby bog. “When the world gets too loud and his music can’t drown it out anymore, he hides. Once you learn that about him, I think you’ll be his sanctuary.” And as they found the younger boy, curled in a ball beneath the half-circle bridge, in the dry portion of the old riverbed, Seonghwa knew he was right. He knew he was right even as Hongjoong’s teary, bright eyes met his own and he tore the headphones out of his ears quickly. He knew that as the boy tumbled into his arms and sobbed against the fabric of his ancient Digimon t-shirt. He knew it, but that did not make the realization any less over the years.

**_FOURTEEN_ **

Everything was full of childish innocence and naivety, until suddenly, it wasn’t. Ripped away like a storm at the helm of a sinking ship, he knew that things could not always stay the same between the two of them. When the first girl confessed to Hongjoong after school, while Seonghwa stood waiting for him just outside the gate, he should have known that things were changing quickly. When he saw Hongjoong hesitate, his gaze flickering to Seonghwa’s still silhouette, he should have understood that their lives were not going to remain the same. And when the boy approached him slowly afterwards, a bizarre look on his face, it should have been the red-flag he needed to give up. 

“Confession?” Seonghwa asked him, a single eyebrow raised. Hongjoong’s face lit up like the flesh of a strawberry. With a nod, he covered his burning cheeks. Seonghwa forced himself to grin. Why should he be upset? This was his best friend. He should be undeniably happy for the other. And yet… “What did you say?”

“I told her sure,” Hongjoong whispers, fidgeting with a stray strand of black that had fallen over his nose. “Don’t tell my dad, though. He doesn’t want me dating until I’m sixteen.” Seonghwa rolls his eyes. 

“Smart man,” he laughs, narrowly avoiding the punch the younger aims at his shoulder. “You’re a tiny baby. You can’t handle a girl yet.” This time, the hit lands; fast and hard. “Ouch! Dude, what have you been doing? Fighting your pillow?”

Hongjoong gasps and tries, but fails, to slap Seonghwa’s wrist. “Let’s just go home,” he says, pulling the older man with him. Seonghwa knows to ignore the weird ache in his chest that refuses to budge. The butterflies did not settle well with the milk tea he had purchased from the school’s vending machine. Instead, they fluttered around his stomach like a dozen, tiny shooting stars. And when Hongjoong looks at him, face still delicately dusted in rose and gold, the feeling multiplies. 

It’s that night, sitting at the Kim’s round kitchen table, that he realizes what the blossoming emotion is. It’s as Hongjoong laughs beside his mother, her hands covered in whatever herb she was sprinkling onto the bread rolls for dinner, and Hongjoong’s eyes bright as he recounts the confession bit by bit. “But don’t tell Dad when he gets home,” Hongjoong says with a grin. “You know how he is about me having a girlfriend.” Seonghwa realizes, with a passing bit of nauseous horror, that he is jealous.

As though sensing it, Hongjoong’s mother turns toward Seonghwa, smiling with all of the warmth of the sun, and cocks her head. “What about you, Seonghwa?” She asks. “Have you found a lucky lady yet?” He can only shake his head and offer a quiet laugh. “You will one day. With those eyes? You’re a killer.”

The conversation does not continue. Not when a loud knock resounds through the yellow kitchen and Hongjoong’s mother asks the youngest to answer the door as she rinses off her hands. Seonghwa stands to accompany Hongjoong, but pauses to watch the dehydrated herb remnants spin down the drain like sad confetti. The spiral and twirl, dancing to an unheard melody, and for a moment, Seonghwa wonders what it would be like to lose oneself to the unknown. He hardly makes it to the corner of the breezeway’s entrance before he hears a deep voice echo through the space.

“Hello, son, is your mother home?” A man asks. It’s a cautious sound; as though walking on eggshells that have never been meant to form a path. “It’s an important matter.” When Seonghwa does round the corner, eyes narrowed, he catches sight of who is on the porch. 

A police officer stands in the doorway. His dark suit contrasting vividly against the setting sun behind him; he looks like a fallen angel. Seonghwa notices, when he shifts his weight to his other foot, that another policeman stands just off to the side. Hongjoong nods, responding to the man, and turns on his heel just as his mother appears over Seonghwa’s shoulder. 

“Who is–” Seonghwa knows the moment the woman meets the man’s eyes. She does not speak any further. Instead, the room falls into the kind of silence that falls over the universe just before the apocalypse starts. Just before the sirens begin to wail and the zombies begin to crawl. Seonghwa would know; he watched a movie about it with Hongjoong the last weekend. This is not a movie, though, not with the way the officer’s face falls. “How can I help you, sir?” 

“Are you Kim Hyejin?” The officer asks softly, watching Hongjoong’s mother closely. When she nods carefully, he removes his hat. Seonghwa has seen this on TV. A glance towards Hongjoong shows him that the other has as well. It is three quick steps to reach the younger boy and intertwine their fingers. It is three short quick breaths before the man speaks again. “I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you this, but there has been an accident. Your husband…” 

Seonghwa doesn’t remember what the officer said. Instead, he remembers catching the weight of his best friend in his arms. He remembers Hongjoong’s older brother, Hajoon, tumbling down the stairs in time to catch their mother. He remembers the way Hongjoong’s tiny fingers curled into the back of his shirt. And God, does he remember the pain. 

**_FIFTEEN_ **

If only it had been a few years later, he could have stayed by Hongjoong’s side. He could have held him through the night when his girlfriend broke up with him because he was “too focused” on his work in the studio. He could have laughed with him over ice cream and pink lemonade. He could have spent the weekend marathoning that stupid pirate series in the blue light of his bedroom with the younger again. If it had only been a few years later, Seonghwa would not have been forced to pile into his parents SUV three-weeks after Mr. Kim’s funeral. He would not have had to watch Hongjoong, from the back window, as the younger chased the moving vehicle chanting promises of the future. If it only had been a few years later.

**_NINETEEN_ **

The town had never seemed so small before. And yet, pulling up to the curb of his childhood home, it was everything he could do to hold in the overwhelmed exclamation. It had only been four years. Four years of studying abroad in Australia; where he had little desire to sit on the beach or play in the ocean. Instead, he spent nearly all of his time photographing whatever creatures came closest to him. He worked with dozens of models, studied dance, and even had a few flings with people. Nothing ever seemed to stick there. It had not been home.

So, he took it upon himself to find the current renters of the house he grew up in back in Korea. It took weeks, but finally, the real estate agency was proud to inform him that the most recent tenants had not renewed their lease. Within seconds, he was agreeing to a relatively cheap monthly rent and rattling off his email so that the agent could send him a PDF to sign. Maybe, it was silly to look for hope in the old, cobweb coated corners of the small building. Maybe, he should have found a better solution than boxing up all of his belongings and booking the earliest flight out of the Kingsford Smith Airport. Yet, here he was; amidst towers of cardboard and a room of echoing silence. 

It only takes three days for him to unpack. It feels longer, but when he glances at the flickering numbers on his phone, he knows that time has hardly passed. He knows what he wants to do; who he wants to see. And with eight fast steps, he’s out the door and down the street before he thinks better of it. 

Knocking on the Kim’s door is easy. It’s like childhood hitting him in the face again as his eyes land on the window box full of bright yellow flowers. Their petals wink and crinkle, telling him that it is okay to be here. It is okay to come home. And when Mrs. Kim appears in the breezeway, her face tells him all the same. The woman rushes toward him, a brilliant smile coating her expression, and pulls him into a tight embrace.

“Park Seonghwa!” She cheers, holding him close. In her arms, he feels small again. As though the world could open up and swallow him whole, but he would be safe as long as she was there. “I had no idea you were back in town, dear. How long have you been here?”

“Three days, Auntie,” he laughs quietly. “I would have been by sooner, but unpacking everything took longer than expected.” 

She pulls back from the embrace long enough to squint at him. “I spent nearly seven years telling you to call me Hyejin,” she pouts in a way that immediately throws Hongjoong’s image into his mind. He would call her by her given name, she had requested it for years after all. However, the memory of the officer addressing her as such made his stomach roll violently. Not noticing his discomfort, she continues, “Did you say you were unpacking? Did you move back?”

“I did,” he says with a smile. “The same house as before, actually. It was vacant.” Hyejin returns the expression brightly. “Is Hongjoong…?” The question trails off as he fidgets carefully with the threadbare edge of his sweater. With a chuckle, she nods. 

“He’ll be home soon. He’s still in high school, you know.” She motions for Seonghwa to follow her into the house. He carefully slips his shoes off in the breezeway and tosses on the same pair of guest slippers that have occupied the space for as long as he has known the family. As they pass the common room, his eyes fall on to the small framed photo of Hongjoong’s father that rests in the curio-cabinet. The man’s bright-eyed expression makes Seonghwa’s stomach plummet painfully.

Hyejin turns slightly, catching where his gaze has landed. “Do you miss him too, dear?” Her voice is soft, like the downy fur behind a kitten’s ear. “I imagine you do. Especially with the way you two were bonded. Hongjoong said that he was not surprised to hear you were still taking pictures in Australia.”

Seonghwa nods and offers a quiet hum in response. “Your husband was a wonderful man, Mrs. Kim.” As the name slips out, she offers him a slight glower. “Hyejin,” he corrects with a laugh. “Thank you for letting me spend time with your family back then.”

She chuckles, ushering him into the kitchen. “Thank you, Seonghwa, for befriending my son. I don’t know where he would be without you.” She pauses for a moment, her gaze falling onto the tabletop. A letter, printed on the local art school’s telltale parchment, sits unfolded. A single glance toward it shows Seonghwa all he needs to know. It is a truancy letter for Hongjoong. “Rather, I suppose I do know where he is without you.”

“Has he…?” The question tapers off into deafening silence, but the woman knows exactly where his mind has gone. With a sigh, she passes the paper to him. As his fingers wrap around the smooth surface, it feels as though he is accepting a memory he is not privy to. Nonetheless, he accepts it and allows his eyes to skim the sheet with caution. “Thirty-nine days is...a lot.”

“It is,” she whispers, “would you care for something to drink? I feel like we have a lot to talk about before he gets home.” Seonghwa nods and immediately the woman wanders to the fridge to pull out a bottle of soda.  _ Pepsi _ . The same that they always drank during movie nights and pirate reenactments. The thought makes him smile fondly as she sets it in front of him. “I figured that you haven’t changed so much that your favorites did too, Mr. Australia?”

“You know me too well,” He chuckles, twisting the cap until the well-known hiss hits the air. “We don’t have to talk about him if it’s difficult. He’s bound to tell me in time.” Even as he says it, he cannot be sure that it is true. The Kim Hongjoong of four years prior would never miss school. He would never let something spiral out of control so severely. Most of all, he wouldn’t worry his mother senselessly. 

Hyejin shakes her head with a frown. “I think you should hear it from me, love. Your move didn’t exactly sit well with him,” she says, her voice hardly above a breath. “He got involved with the wrong sort of people once you left. Found attention in all the corners he should not have dedicated his time to snooping in. I think it was just a shock for him; losing two people he loved dearly back to back.”

“We wrote back and forth for the first few months,” Seonghwa mumbles, searching for exactly when the change happened. “When did things get bad?” It is probably a stupid question, but Hyejin’s eyes are warm and full of motherly affection. “Was I–”

“Oh, honey, no. You didn’t do anything. That final gift you left him, the tape? It was a saving grace really. Hongjoong just has always had a habit of loving too much and expecting nothing in return. He likes to take care of people and when he found a group that he thought he could do that for, they used him to their advantage.” Seonghwa sucks in a sharp breath. Hongjoong had fallen, but that did not mean he was unsalvageable. No human was ever past being saved. 

“And is he still friends with them?” He says it quietly, as though Hongjoong was going to barrel through the door at any moment. Hyejin shakes her head again. It’s as though a weight has lifted from his shoulders. The dull ache remaining from the tension in his uncertain muscles ebbs away carefully. “How long did it go on?”

“About two years; little more than that. I didn’t know it was happening until Hajoon told me that he caught Hongjoong behind the school with a few of the boys. Yeosang told him that he would find his little brother there, so he went after him.” Hyejin looks to her hands. “Hongjoong was involved with a small-scale drug ring. You know, the kind where kids sell weed and their parents’ prescription pills? Apparently, Hajoon caught him doling out half a bottle of Benzodiazepines to some freshman. I hadn’t even noticed mine going missing.”

Seonghwa feels his heart dip into his ribcage. His Hongjoong, the one who sat on his porch swing and laughed over the newest comic updates weekly, meddling in things beyond his control. The thought made him sick. “He didn’t use, right?” It rolls off of his tongue quickly. Hyejin does not meet his gaze, and again, his entire body goes rigid. If only he had stayed a few more years. “What was it?”

“Morphine. He’s been clean for a little over a year now,” her voice drops low as she speaks. “Don’t think any less of him, okay, Seonghwa? He went through treatment and the rehab center said that he seemed more than willing to get off of it.” She offers him a tender smile, her dainty fingers wrapping around his, and he catches sight of the glittering engagement band on her ring finger. He would ask about that later. Right now, though, he knew what he had to do.

“How do I help?” He asks. Hyejin’s eyes light up with the question. “I’m not planning on leaving any time soon, so I just need to know, how can I be there for him?” She squeezes his hand lightly. 

“He has weekly meetings with a counselor and doctor’s appointments to take care of the Suboxone. The brunt of the issue, though, just stems from needing a support system. In my grief, I wasn’t able to offer that to him. It was easier for him to just numb it all rather than deal with it.” She stops speaking, dark eyes filling with tears. “The most I could ask from you, Seonghwa, is that you just let him talk when he needs to.”

Seonghwa smiles. “I will always be here to do just that. He won’t be alone.” He chews on the supple flesh of his lip. It’s not a constant habit, but it is one that his own mother has lectured him on a hundred times. Hyejin, however, does not seem to acknowledge it. “He has a better group of friends now, though?” 

“He does,” she says, finally letting go of his hands. “They’re wonderful. Theres about six boys that he met at school. All of them are involved in the arts in some way, so I don’t doubt that you’ll fit right in, Seonghwa.” Her eyes flicker to the round analog clock that balances on the kitchen wall. He notices, for the first time, the new paint job that covers them. Rather than the gentle yellow, the walls have been concealed with a baby blue. Things always were guaranteed to change, yet for some reason, the realization makes his throat feel thick with nostalgia. “You know what, it’s Friday, isn’t it? Hongjoong should be home any time now and I think the boys will be with him. Are you okay with that?” 

For a moment, he wants to say no. That he does not want to share his time with Hongjoong. Particularly, that he does not want to meet a large group of high schoolers while trying to have a touching reunion with his childhood best friend. Instead, he chuckles. “Of course. When I said I would always be there for him from now on, I meant it.” 

The two make light conversation over soda and cookies while waiting for the group to turn up. Within the ten minutes of peace they have, Hyejin tells Seonghwa all about the man she had gotten engaged to just three months earlier. “You’ll adore him when you two meet, Seonghwa. He’s a poet,” she gushes, “His work is so vivid; so full of imagery. It’s really beautiful.”

“How did he propose?” Seonghwa asks, resting his cheek on his hand. Hyejin was like a second mother to him, but she had always treated him as a friend. It was a bizarre idea, yet he wouldn’t have it any other way. Especially, when he got to hear all of the hot gossip. “I’d assume it was something flowery; possibly the park or the beach?”

She smacks at his arm with a giggle. The engagement band catches the light like a shooting star as it flickers through the air with her movements. “He wrote me a lovely piece. At least, what I could read was stunning.” Seonghwa raises an eyebrow. Again, the woman lets out an airy laugh. “He tried to propose by the river. Except, he didn’t expect it to be as muddy as it was. Poor thing slipped and fell right on his behind into the shallow water. Took the poem right with him and the ring.” She stares fondly at the glittering jewelry. “It was swept away in the current, but he was able to pluck it off a stray branch that it got snagged on about ten paces down. The poem was soaked, but he tried to recite it from memory. I still have it somewhere–”

She is cut off by the loud sound of heavy footsteps stumbling onto the porch. It is then that the boisterous tones of a group of young adults hits the air like a cacophonous song. Keys jingle in the lock; followed by a shrill laugh as they must hit the wooden surface of the threshold. And then, the door swings open. It’s as though all of the ballads in the world collide at the same time. Sharp, impossibly loud, but still a melody that Seonghwa would never tune out.

“Mom!” A familiar, yet much deeper, voice calls. “I brought the guys with me–” The sound breaks off like shattered glass as the high schooler rounds the corner. The moment his eyes lock onto Seonghwa’s, something seems to crack in the facade the man has put forth. “Oh,” he whispers, hardly above a breath. 

Hongjoong’s hair, Seonghwa notices, has been dyed a cherry red. When it catches the light, sections of orange stand out like lightning bolts in the dead of a summer night. His face, once laced with baby fat, has become all sharp angles. And even his ears, now filled with various pieces of jewelry, are different. Yet, it is still his Hongjoong. And as the boy surges towards him with another soft, ‘oh,’ Seonghwa knows that the feeling is mutual. 

His arms wind around the man’s waist easily. And he’s skinny, so skinny that Seonghwa feels a weird lump in his throat at the thought. However, that is a conversation for another time. In the here and now, Seonghwa can only hold on tight as warm tears roll down his cheeks like stray raindrops on cold glass. Hongjoong, sniffling loudly, digs into his shoulder blades as though the older is the last lifeboat on a sinking ship. 

“You came back?” The boy asks, his breath warm and hot on Seonghwa’s neck. The blonde nods, his chest heavy, and Hongjoong holds back a sob. “How long are you here?”

“Forever. As long as you need me,” he responds quietly. “I’m here until you get sick of looking at me. And then I’ll be here even longer than that.” Hongjoong laughs. The sound is everything Seonghwa ever wanted. It is the soft chime of bells against the ocean waves. The masterful violin melody that pairs perfectly with a soulful piano solo. It is a laugh that etches memories into stone and turns gold into molten syrup. “I’m sorry.”

Hongjoong pulls back, just enough for him to meet Seonghwa’s teary stare, and shakes his head. “You did nothing wrong, Hwa. For God’s sake, you came back,” he mumbles into Seonghwa’s shirt the moment they collide again. “You could have stayed in Australia to take pictures of those damn koalas or whatever, but you came home.” It’s when someone coughs from behind them that Seonghwa remembers their audience. 

Sheepishly detangling himself from Hongjoong, he presses a palm to the back of his neck to face the group. “Hi, sorry about that. I’m Park Seonghwa, I used to–”

A black-haired boy with a single mole beneath his eye grins wildly. Mischievously. “Please, do you think Hongjoong hasn’t told us all about you?” He takes a step forward and pulls Seonghwa into a sudden hug, making the older squeak loudly. “Thank you. For coming back, I mean,” he looks at Seonghwa with a glint that challenges him to talk back. “I’m Jung Wooyoung. It’s kind of my fault Hongjoong got stuck with this particular group of losers, so if you don’t like us, then blame me, I guess.” He lets go of Seonghwa and moves back carefully. 

“Calling us losers probably isn’t the best way to go about things,” one of the others says with a pout. His blonde hair falls into his face, but the moment he meets Seonghwa’s eyes, his own cat-like ones turn up at the corners. The smile that paints his lips adds deep dimples into his cheeks. “I’m Choi San. Hongjoong is in my art class–”

“And our dance class,” Wooyoung interjects. “Almost everyone in here takes dance, aside from Mingi.” Behind him, one of the taller boys shrugs. His brown waves flop across his forehead with the movement. He, Seonghwa presumes, must be Mingi. 

The high schooler rolls his eyes as Wooyoung mumbles something about missing his presence in the course. “It’s not my fault, Woo.” His attention falls onto Seonghwa. “I threw out my back during second year. I still busk with everyone,” he says, moving a palm to his lower back with a soft sigh. “But I mostly am just in charge of rapping.” Mingi’s face lights up though as he tosses an arm around Hongjoong’s shoulders. “Joong is my partner in crime for that.”

Seonghwa smiles as the apples of the redhead’s cheeks flush a brilliant rose-gold. Hongjoong makes a weird noise in the back of his throat, trying to avoid the topic, but another highschooler is speaking before he has the chance to say anything. “Don’t let him try to convince you that he isn’t talented, by the way,” the blue-haired man chuckles, “he’s one of the best in our year. Girls basically beg to have him work with them for their mixtapes.”

“Yunho, they do that,” San says, eyes crinkling into bright crescents, “because he’s pretty and gives wonderful manicures. Also, because he’s incredibly talented and full of love.” San wraps his arms around Hongjoong’s waist, pinning him between Mingi and himself. Near the door, two other figures linger. One boy is quiet, with round cheeks and attentive eyes, and Seonghwa immediately takes a liking to the way he observes the group. The other stands with an ever present pout plastered onto his lips and his arms over his chest. His wide brown stare meets Seonghwa’s with what feels almost like a dare. 

Seonghwa, for once, takes the initiative. “I promise I don’t bite,” he tells the boys. The quiet one raises an eyebrow before taking a step forward. Seonghwa cannot say that he expects the younger to hold out an empty palm, but when their hands intertwine, he realizes that he should have. The boy has the grip of someone who has been trained a hundred times to show off all of the power in the world with just a firm handshake. “Park Seonghwa.” 

“Kang Yeosang,” the boy says softly. It’s like listening to the distant crash of ocean waves on the sandy beaches of his most recent home. When he steps away, he runs his fingers through his unruly brown strands with a sigh. Chunky highlights flicker through them as they settle back into what appears to be their place; hidden beneath the light brown coloring. “I’m a dancer and visual artist.”

“He also dabbles in modeling,” Wooyoung says with a wiggle to his eyebrow. “In case that changes any perspective points you may have on him–” The dancer lets out a cry loud enough to rival a firecracker as he prances away from Hongjoong’s outstretched fingers. “You are not supposed to pinch people’s asses, Joong! That’s rude!”

Hyejin cuts in easily, shoving a bowl of orange slices into Wooyoung’s hands. “And you should clean your mouth out with soap, Jung Wooyoung. How would your mother feel if I told her you referred to your own behind as an ass?” Eyes round, the boy mumbles some kind of apology as Hyejin’s focus lands elsewhere. “Jongho, honey, would you like melon? I know you don’t really like apples much after the last incident.”

“Incident?” Seonghwa asks as Hongjoong settles comfortably against his side once more. “How does someone have an apple-related incident?” Hongjoong only smiles with a shrug. 

“Stick around and you’ll understand.”

☽ ❂ ☾

“So, you’ve pet a real koala before?” Mingi asks, legs crossed on the shag carpet of Hongjoong’s room. It was never a large space to begin with, yet somehow, the redhead had been shoving this group of rowdy art students into it for months. And for the first time in years, Seonghwa sees what he has only dreamed of. 

The sparkle in Hongjoong’s eye that comes right before his face is consumed by a massive smile. It’s like a falling star, brief and brilliant, and full of peace. Hongjoong has found peace. Whatever Wooyoung said that made the expression happen, Seonghwa cannot thank him enough. 

In turn, the eldest regrettably pulls his attention away from Hongjoong’s dazzling light only to meet Mingi’s questioning stare. The brunette’s dark eyes flick between Seonghwa and Hongjoong a few times before a knowing smirk dances on his lips. Seonghwa cannot help the soft gasp that leaves his mouth. It’s inaudible to everyone else, aside from the rapper, and only enhances the silent secret the two now seem to share. 

Instead of furthering Seonghwa’s embarrassment, Mingi just repeats himself slowly. “Koalas. Are they soft?” Seonghwa nods, the heat in his cheeks nearly unbearable, and covers them with his palms. “San is kind of like a koala. He holds on to everyone and everything.”

“I don’t!” San protests from his spot across the circle. “I don’t,” he mumbles, sweater sleeve muffling his voice significantly. Wooyoung’s telltale cackle breaks through the sudden silence, much to the blonde’s dismay, and he flails wildly to stop the sound. As his palm slaps over the black-haired boy’s mouth, he groans, “What would you know, Wooyoung?”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes with vigor. San’s ear-piercing screech and recoil make it obvious that the other licked his palm. A shudder passes through Seonghwa at the thought of someone’s saliva simply settling on his skin. It was unhygienic. Nonetheless, Wooyoung continues as though he is completely innocent. “I’ve had your tongue down my throat, dork. If anything, I’d be more surprised if I didn’t know how much you like to cling to people. Especially-“

“Nope!” Hongjoong squeaks, covering his ears. “We’re not talking about that right now. That is the last thing we’re going to do.” A deep giggle draws Seonghwa’s attention across the room. Yeosang, hazel eyes full of every sunbeam the world has to offer, covers his lips with a sweater-paw. He is everything celestial packed into a delicate figure. 

Yeosang meets Seonghwa’s eyes slowly. For a breath, the older cannot help but wonder what crosses his mind. Does he see Seonghwa as a stranger treading on his territory? Rather than the coldness that he expects to see come over the younger man, warmth spreads through his features like hot water over ice. Within a minute, at least one of the boy’s many walls seems to fall. Seonghwa smiles carefully in his direction, but neither shatters the quiet bond that seems to form with just a look.

“So, what do you do, Seonghwa?” Yunho asks. “Or what are you planning to do, at least, now that you’re back from Australia?”

Seonghwa thinks for a moment. With a hum, he shrugs. “I’ll probably apply for university. The goal was to study photography,” he glances at Hongjoong who wears a proud expression. “I think it’s just right.” Yunho nods as he speaks. 

“From what I’ve heard, I don’t doubt it,” Jongho says. “If only you were around when Hongjoong had that shitty promo project with–”

“Jongho,” the redhead grumbles, effectively cutting off whatever the youngest was trying to say. “You all seem so focused on that. It wasn’t that big of a deal at the time.”

Seonghwa feels his eyebrow raise slightly. “What wasn’t a big deal?” He asks, noticing the way Hongjoong’s shoulders seem to go tense. Before the high schooler can protest further and push them away from the conversation, Wooyoung is rolling his eyes. _ ‘If he does it any more often,’ _ Seonghwa thinks, _ ‘he might give himself a migraine.’  _

“There was a cross-focus assignment last semester. The school randomly selected a group of people from different art-tracks and threw them into groups to create a promotional concept. Hongjoong got paired with this hot-shot photographer and–”

“And nothing.” This time, Hongjoong’s voice holds a bite that Seonghwa has rarely heard. It’s sharp; laced with glass shards and creaking metal shrapnel. Wooyoung stares back at him with his mouth slightly agape. Around the small room, everyone falls into immediate silence. With a click, Wooyoung’s mouth snaps shut. “Seonghwa doesn’t want to hear about pretentious photography students. God only knows how many he’ll have to meet in actual classes.”

Despite the diversion, Seonghwa sees his avoidance for what it is. An excuse. However, he does not say anything. Hyejin’s earlier words ring through his mind like chapel bells. ‘ _ The most I could ask from you, Seonghwa, is that you just let him talk when he needs to.’  _ And for now, Hongjoong does not seem to need to. Or rather, he does not want to. 

Mingi breaks the awkward silence with a soft laugh. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he glances between the men. “So, koalas…?” And meeting Hongjoong’s gaze, Seonghwa decides to finally humor them. If it takes the heat off of the redhead, Seonghwa would willingly throw himself into a nest of huntsman spiders. 

While the group leaves, Hongjoong grabs his arm before he is able to step foot out of the threshold. “Stay?” He whispers, warm eyes full of something more. With a sigh of relief, Seonghwa nods. Together, they wave the others off, ignoring the complaints about favoritism that surface from the crowd. As the door shuts, Hongjoong turns to him with a slight frown. “Can we talk?”

“About…?” Seonghwa’s voice turns up into a question. 

“Life, the past, just...all of it?” And who is he to deny the younger that request? With a smile, he hums in confirmation. It takes only a second for Hongjoong to throw his arms around the blonde’s waist. With his head resting on Seonghwa’s shoulder, it is easy for the older to thread his fingers through the red and orange strands. He breathes in deeply with the contact. “I missed this.”

Seonghwa can’t help the soft chuckle that escapes his throat. “Hugging?”

“You,” Hongjoong laughs. “I missed hugging you, dork.” He pulls away slowly and grabs Seonghwa’s wrist with a delicate touch. “Come on. I’m pretty sure I still have Pirates of the Caribbean somewhere.” And he does.

It’s easy being around Hongjoong. It’s like breathing fresh air after years of feeling nothing but the suffocating tug of the future. Hongjoong’s head in his lap, eyes closed gently as Seonghwa’s thumb traces over the high point of his cheekbone, he remembers what it means to be whole. It only took leaving the boy entirely to realize that they were two vines of ivy; tangled and growing together. 

Beside them, Seonghwa’s phone chimes with notification after notification. When the noise grows too frequent, he reaches out to silence it. Hongjoong says nothing for minutes. Instead, he lets Seonghwa resume tracing tiny designs into his warm skin. The movie carries on with its vivid, scenic beaches and intense naval battles. As though nothing can touch the world that has been established in the film. And Seonghwa wonders if real life could be like that. If everything was one set timeline that fate controlled like an intricate script. It’s against the clanging of metal swords that the younger speaks. 

“Your girlfriend?” It’s a tender question; a breath in the wind. If Seonghwa wasn’t focused on the boy so intently, he would probably have missed it. “She probably misses you. You can text her back, I don’t mind.” For some reason, the suggestion feels like the sagittal end of a dagger borne from Damascus steel. Seonghwa stalls his ministrations immediately.

“What girlfriend?” He asks, cocking his head slightly. Hongjoong’s eyes open carefully. He squints back, a frown passing onto his lips, and shrugs. 

“Significant other, then. You know I’m never going to judge you for–” Seonghwa pulls his hand away from Hongjoong’s face as though burnt by an open flame. “Hwa? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t assume things. I just–”

“I’m not dating anyone, Joong,” the older says gently. “There were people in the past, but I haven’t been steady with anyone. The plan was always–”

“To come back here?” Hongjoong sits up now, a bizarre glint flickering in his eyes. “Why would you want to come back here? There’s never been much.”

Seonghwa’s heart pounds in his chest like doldrums on the horizon. “I left something behind,” he whispers. “Someone.”

“Someone,” Hongjoong repeats. That look seems to grow like an ember being stoked into a heavy flame. Hope. “Do I know this someone?” Seonghwa’s eyes fall shut as he draws in a deep breath. This was never what was supposed to happen. And yet, when he feels Hongjoong’s breath dance on his lips, he knows that it was.

“I would hope that you own a mirror.” The words are hardly out of his mouth before he feels Hongjoong press a kiss to his cheek. In an instant, his eyes shoot open. “What…?”

“Take me on a real date,” Hongjoong says with a grin. “That is, if I’m the one you’re talking about.” He flops back into Seonghwa’s lap with a sigh. The older feels the way the emperor butterflies slam against his ribcage, trying to beat their way out. 

“How long have you known?” He asks stilly. It’s as though any breath could disrupt the scene they have created. “Please don’t say forever.”

Hongjoong’s laugh is like a morning bell; a sunrise through the clouds. “About thirty seconds,” he murmurs. “I had nothing to go off of but a daydream.” As he says it, his bright eyes meet Seonghwa’s again. “I’ve been in love with your oblivious ass since I was fourteen. I just didn’t know what it was until that stupid promotional project.”

Seonghwa’s eyebrow quirks up, but he cheats his gaze to the TV screen in front of them. “The one Wooyoung and Jongho brought up?” What kind of promotional project brought that kind of realization to a senior in high school? Hongjoong chuckles.

“It was to make a promotional concept; that much you knew. What I didn’t let the others tell you, is that every group was given a primary theme. Mine just so happened to be first love.” The redhead runs his hand through his hair with a sigh. “I thought it was going to be easy, you know? I was one-hundred percent aware that I had never fallen in love before. I let  _ that _ slip, though, and our main photographer jumped on the idea to make himself the winner of that prize.”

Seonghwa cringes as Hongjoong speaks. It is entirely involuntary, and yet, the younger does not seem surprised. Instead, he just nods gently. “Oh, Joong, that’s horrible.” 

“It wasn’t too bad,” Hongjoong says softly. “He didn’t seem to understand that I’m no angel. I did things that didn’t involve love, because that’s how humans work sometimes, you know? Not everything needs an emotional tie. He broke it off the moment he realized he wasn’t really getting any metaphorical, societal constructs thrown into his hat.” The blue light of the TV reflects in his eyes like the ocean tides. “It made me realize that there had always been someone.”

“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa whispers, reaching for Hongjoong’s hand. The redhead intertwines their fingers easily. “I should have been there.”

“You were there.” The statement hits the air heavily. “You never really left, you know? When things got rough and it felt like the darkest part of the tunnel just kept going, your smile was all I could see.” Hongjoong falls silent as a droplet rolls down his cheek. It soaks into the fabric of Seonghwa’s striped socks like summer rain. At first, he opens his mouth to ask Hongjoong why he’s crying, but another falls onto the younger boy’s face with a dull splat. It isn’t Hongjoong that is breaking before him. 

It’s Seonghwa. 

☾  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ☽ Hello, loves! So, here's the new thing I'm going to be working on for a week or two.
> 
> It's heavy, painful, and frankly, I regretted it once I was a thousand words in. The next two chapters are going to be horror-themed, so do not feel obligated to see it through if you do not enjoy horror, gore, murder-mystery, etc. The source material (Life is Strange) is triggering and I used a poll on Twitter to help me pick routes. Somehow, we got almost the worst possible outcome.
> 
> Find me on Twitter: @KyojinOuji
> 
> Cheers and see you in a few days. ☾


	2. VALERIAN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ☽ TW: Rape, Abuse, Suicide, Self-harm, Drug Abuse, Past Addiction, Death, Violence, Kidnapping  
> (Not all are included in this chapter, however, they are recurring themes in this fic.)
> 
> PLEASE do not read this if any of these topics are even slightly triggering for you. Always care for your mental health and do not force yourself to read something that can potentially damage you. I care about all of my readers very dearly and only want the best for you. ☾

> _ “The one who left wanted everything. _
> 
> _ The one who stayed never wanted more. _
> 
> _ It's not your choice, it's how you're built. _
> 
> _ It's in a blueprint of your soul. _
> 
> _ The one who left, he dropped his smile. _
> 
> _ And they sat quiet for a while. _
> 
> _ Then, the one who stayed began to speak. _
> 
> _ And in his words, he answered why…” _
> 
> **_The One Who Stayed and the One Who Left_ ** _ \- Regina Spektor _

* * *

_**TWENTY** _

“Hold still,” Hongjoong mumbles, featherlight touch casting over Seonghwa’s eyelids like moth wings. The older makes a soft noise in the back of his throat. It isn’t unusual for the other man to map the freckles and constellations of his face as though it would be their key to the edge of eternity. “Why do you keep blinking?”

Seonghwa scoffs. “I’m sorry to inform you, love,” he whispers, “but I’m a human person.” He can practically hear the way the younger rolls his eyes. Seonghwa cracks one lid just to see the other stare back at him with a fond expression. “You don’t have to do that, you know? I’m not leaving any time soon.”

Hongjoong hums and pushes the now black strands from his forehead. It’s a tender gesture; like peeling a clementine for your partner or watching them brush their teeth in the early hours of the morning. Seonghwa leans into the touch easily; even as the hair falls back into his face. “We’re stuck together until graduation.” 

“Four years is a long time, Joong.” 

His smile only grows wider; more brilliant. “We’ve done it before. I’m pretty certain we can do it again.” With that, he rolls over to pick up one of the two cell phones sitting on their bedside table. “Yunho wants to go to breakfast.”

The master bedroom of Seonghwa’s childhood home seems to swallow them alive. He remembers the days he sat on his parents’ bed and wondered just how big the world actually was. Laying here now, he still finds himself thinking the same thing. With a gentle sigh, Seonghwa glances at the clock that glows faintly red. In the era of cellphones, he had no idea why they had purchased it. It reflects a menacing time back at him and he can only chuckle. “Does Yunho realize it’s nearly noon?”

“Brunch then,” Hongjoong says, “Yunho would like to do brunch. Are you willing to get your ass out of bed?”

“Will there be meat?” Seonghwa asks. Hongjoong groans. 

“Yes, babe, there will be meat at whatever restaurant we go to. Get up.” 

Yunho is bright-eyed the moment the couple walks into the cafe. His wild blonde hair is visible across the space and the frantic gestures he ambushes them with are impossible to miss. From the eight of them, they’re only three of the five that stayed in town. Laughing, Hongjoong tugs on Seonghwa’s hand just roughly enough to make the older stumble forward. “Puppy!” Hongjoong yells, moving them quickly. 

“My wonderful parents!” Yunho giggles as he pulls the two into his embrace. “God, I hate only getting to see you guys once a week. Can we change that?” Seonghwa places a palm on the man’s head, patting him gently, and pulls away.

“Tell that to your dance team. Maybe if they knew how to share you, we could see you more often.” 

Yunho pouts, but shrugs in response. Carefully, he detangles himself from Hongjoong’s hold. “Wooyoung demands everything and more. It’s not really up to me or San to make requests.” 

Hongjoong crosses his arms over his chest. “Technically,” he mumbles, “you’re the leader. You can do whatever you want. Even if that means bossing WooSan around.” 

“I’m not going to risk their dreams, Joong.” He smiles as he says it. It’s like watching ice drip over a raging flame. Soft, delicate, and fragile. Yunho held so much love for his friends, but hardly enough for himself. He would give them the world if he had a way to rule it first. “Are you guys still cool for the party?”

“Friday, right?”

“Yeah,” Yunho confirms, “Hyung said to be there whenever, but the action isn’t going to really start until ten.”

Hongjoong grins and pulls Seonghwa’s chair out for him. As they settle into their seats, he says, “I still can’t believe you’re friends with Lee Taemin and Kim Jongin.” Yunho holds his hands out in a ‘don’t-shoot-me’ kind of gesture. “You’re lucky. They’re basically dance gods.”

“They’re dorks,” Yunho laughs. “I don’t know if I would consider them gods of anything except losing things and tormenting their friends.” Seeing Yunho work so well with other people after Mingi left for Seoul makes a bubbly feeling rise in Seonghwa’s chest. They had all been worried that they two would have a difficult time separating after being dependent on each other’s company for years. Hongjoong had mentioned, just as summer started to wind down, that they would have to keep a close eye on the younger members of their group.

“It’s not that I think they’re going to get into trouble,” he told Seonghwa late one August night. “I just think that there is a time and place for everyone. And I’m not sure this is either or.” That summer, they spent every waking moment wading in the icy waters of the nearby lake. It had been the boys’ secret hideaway; one they introduced Hongjoong to just after the friend group formed. The second Seonghwa joined them, it was like finding a quiet portion of the universe just to keep to themselves. The only major difficulty was finding the oasis. 

“It’s through the woods. You have to follow the old tracks until you hit it, but the cargo trains used to route right past it,” Yunho had told him with a grin. “You’re in for a surprise. I can’t believe you lived here for so long and never knew.”

And he was surprised. That summer was everything. Even so, in the new stages of his relationship with Hongjoong, he couldn’t help but feel as though he was intruding on the boys’ lives. He did not know why Yeosang hid his smile nor did he understand why the younger refused to swim with the others. Instead, he spent his time laughing from the muddy bank, sipping stolen alcohol like lifeblood, and whispering sweet nothings to Jongho when the youngest flopped beside him. Seonghwa once overheard them, quiet and isolated, speaking about Yeosang’s home life. 

“They can’t threaten you like that,” Jongho had mumbled. “No one should lay a hand on their kid. I don’t care how many fuckups–” Yeosang did not say anything in response. Instead, he just settled his palm against the brunette’s cheek with a tired smile. “Yeo, just stay with me. Mom won’t care.”

“It would just piss my dad off more. He wants me to disappear.” With a bitter laugh, he presses a kiss to the other’s forehead. “Which is exactly why I’m going to stick around until college. I’m not giving him the satisfaction of watching me run away.” His sentence was punctuated by a massive splash of water raining down upon them. From the shallow end of the lake, San grinned up at the two on the shore. 

When everyone graduated, Yeosang left town for Busan National. His father took it as him not trying hard enough for Seoul National University and immediately started to gossip about all of the mistakes he thought Yeosang was making. He then took it a step further and told Jongho the same things, the youngest immediately connected his fist with the man’s jaw. No one was surprised when Jongho graduated high school a semester early, turned down his acceptance to Seoul National, and followed Yeosang to Busan. 

There was surprise, when Mingi went back on his vow to go to the same university as Yunho. The boy’s acceptance to Seoul National sparked a massive fight between the two best friends. The rapper confessed that he had grown tired of the same small town they had lived in their entire lives. When Yunho asked why he didn’t just tell him sooner, the man only said, “We’re both scared of change, Yun. It’s just this time, I can’t let it hold me back.” 

It was three weeks before they could even look at each other again. Something changed during their time apart, however, and it was as though they would never be pried apart. Even as they stood outside the train station, shouting their goodbyes at his receding form, Mingi did not take his eyes off of the tallest until he was about to tumble down the stairs. When Seonghwa looked at Yunho, a question still forming on his tongue, all he could pay attention to was the gentle quiver of the big baby’s bottom lip. 

But now, the man sits before them with a bright glimmer in his eyes. “The others are still coming into town for it too. Which is sort of why I wanted to talk to you.” He looks down and folds his hands on the table. “I’m thinking about confessing to Mingi.”

“Finally!” Hongjoong exclaims. “God, it only took you forever and a half.” Yunho’s brown eyes widen. “Don’t stare at me like that. You’ve never been subtle about it.”

“I,” Yunho coughs, “Wasn’t really trying to be. If I tried to fly under the radar with it, we’d never get anywhere.” He presses a hand to the back of his neck with a nervous smirk. “I guess that makes things easier.” 

Seonghwa chuckles quietly. “I’m glad you trust us enough to finally tell us, though, Yunho. It takes a lot of courage to even speak it into existence.” As the waitress finally approaches them to take their orders, Yunho charms her until her face flushes pink. By the time she leaves, she’s stuttering and he is still oblivious. “If you can do that same thing to Mingi, I can’t see why you might need our help.”

“What did I do?” He asks. When the couple falls into an extended bout of laughter, his own face turns red up to the tips of his ears. “Guys, seriously, what did I do?”

“You’re too precious for your own good, Yun. That’s all,” Hongjoong says, brushing a tear from his eye. “Honestly, stay that way forever, okay?” Seonghwa nods fondly. “Of course we’ll help you though.”

“What’s your plan?” Seonghwa asks as the waitress returns with their drinks. She sets the sodas down one by one, their ice cubes clinking like tiny bells, and frowns when Yunho doesn’t seem to pay her much mind aside from a quick nod. She turns on her heel before Hongjoong can even offer a sympathetic grimace. 

“It's been two months since he came home, so I was going to just do it before the party. Basically, just let him go to the house to visit his parents and then confess when I pick him up on the way to your place.”

Hongjoong’s lips pull back, exposing his teeth, as he winces. “Romantic,” the older says, pulling his soda closer. “Think of something else.” Yunho grunts and slams his forehead against the table with a deafening smack. It is everything Seonghwa can do to steady the spillable liquids and save their casual clothing.

Yunho’s voice is muffled as he grumbles, “Why is flirting so hard?” Seonghwa can only laugh and clap him on the shoulder delicately. “How do you two do it? You’re literally perfect.” The comment makes Seonghwa’s heart lurch painfully. Yunho knows that it is an untruth. While he doesn’t know of the nights that Seonghwa has to hold Hongjoong’s trembling form as he hears of that week’s death, that week’s teenager, that he used to run the rings with. He doesn’t know of the time that passes in silence while the Suboxone film tab melts under Hongjoong’s tongue to curb the cravings that still surface. He doesn’t know the way that the addict holds the edge of their kitchen chair with a white knuckled grip every time the counselor and doctors suggest for him to begin weaning off of the medication.  _ Yunho does know that they are not perfect. _

However, Seonghwa chuckles and takes a sip of his drink. “Once you fight with wooden swords on the bow of a moving pirate ship, you learn everything there is to know about a person.” It’s a lie. There is so much that the two have never shared with each other, but Hongjoong’s fingers still find his beneath the table. They know the truth and that’s all that matters.

Friday rolls around without much pomp and circumstance. It’s the battle of waking up, pulling himself from the warmth of their shared bed, and dragging his feet to class four times a week that really does him in. By the grace of the Gods, he managed to get Fridays off this semester. Most first-years couldn’t achieve such a feat, but his determination to stay curled up in Hongjoong’s arms for just an hour or two longer in the morning was worth it. Even if seventy-five percent of the time, the younger was sleeping in the spare room they had turned into a small studio.

Hongjoong’s passion, his drive, kept him locked away for all hours of the day. The majority of his classes were online. And those that weren’t did not have mandatory attendance. Seonghwa worried about his boyfriend nearly every time a creative spurt struck, but knew better than to interfere with his work process. It was just how Hongjoong had always been. 

“You have–”

“My keys,” Seonghwa says with a laugh. “They’re in the pocket of my jacket; the one hanging by the door.” Hongjoong shifts his weight uncomfortably between his feet. It’s a nervous habit that he has had for years; one where he rolls his ankles inward and bounces gently. “Why are you so anxious today, love?”

“We just haven’t seen Yeosang and Jongho in weeks. They’re not angry about last time, are they?” During their previous visit, the couple had to deal with Hongjoong’s constant outbursts fueled by his mother’s approaching wedding. It had gone swimmingly until Hongjoong told Yeosang that his mother had asked the Kangs to attend as well. 

Yeosang had only frowned at him. His eyes narrowed into slits, he crossed his arms over his chest, and fled the apartment instantly. Jongho trailed after him, murmuring apologies, and texted them only when they were on the next train back to Busan. Seonghwa runs a thumb along Hongjoong’s jaw carefully.

“You caught him off guard, that’s all. It was better to tell him then anyways. Wouldn’t do us much good to surprise him at the actual wedding, yeah?” As he speaks, he applies the gentlest bit of pressure to the flesh beneath his finger. Hongjoong leans into mindlessly, his eyes still filled to the brim with worry, and Seonghwa finds himself fighting the urge to kiss the man’s pouty bottom lip. Instead, he settles for pushing the navy blue strands from his eyes and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “I’ve talked to him and Jongho both. They’re fine, Joong.”

He pulls away, but grabs the younger's wrist gently. Hongjoong smiles under the weight of the world, shrugging away his worries, and gives a subtle nod. “It would probably make them angrier if we left them waiting at the station, huh?” Seonghwa chuckles and tugs his lover behind him as they tumble toward the door. It would be a whirlwind reunion, he already knew, but he would never trade it for the world. 

Or maybe he would. As Yeosang and Jongho come into view from the station entrance, the loud, squabbling sounds of a particular other couple arrives with them. San’s smile is radiant. Framed by his deep dimples, he meets Seonghwa’s gaze with all of the brilliance of the sun. Wooyoung, however, continues his rant about whatever anime they had been marathoning prior to leaving their apartment. 

“I’m just saying,” the younger squawks, “that Edward would have been better to go rogue instead of team up with the military. There was no reason for a child to–”

“That’s the point of the whole show, Wooyoungie,” Yeosang grins, pulling the black-haired man into his arms. “Genuinely, like, I’m pretty certain you can’t change any part of that.” Wooyoung mumbles something under his breath, but instead of biting back with another witty comment, Yeosang simply covers his wide smile as the two break apart.

San throws his arms out and motions for Jongho to take a step closer. However, the youngest grimaces. “Why do you never hug me, dork?” San whines; pout growing by the minute. “We’re supposed to have a touching reunion. All the good stuff, you know?” Jongho lets out a strangled noise, but approaches the older man as though he is a wild animal. 

“Just a hug, yeah?”

“Just a hug,” San confirms with a bright-eyed look. It’s only when Jongho actually embraces him that San presses a wet, noisy kiss to the black-haired man’s cheek. Jongho screeches and stumbles back frantically. Palming at his face, he glares poison-coated daggers in San’s direction. The boy laughs maniacally as he runs at Wooyoung for a high-five. 

“I can’t believe you actually did it. Shit, I guess I owe you a coffee now,” Wooyoung mumbles and pats his jean pockets. Pulling out his wallet, he shakes it in San’s face.

“Make it a date, baby boy, and you can keep your money,” San punctuates his sentence with a wink. In the distance, Jongho gags with every ounce of dramatics that he can muster; despite being a theater major. Seonghwa lets the familiarity consume him. The laughter and the smiles produce a beautiful melody he knows will be stuck in his head for ages to come. Even if the world were to end tomorrow, these moments made all twenty years he spent on the Earth worth it. Love made it worth it.

Even when Yeosang’s gaze locks onto his from across the madness. It still holds the same weight that it has since their first meeting. The sense of an entire universe separate from their own existing within the younger man’s head. However, Seonghwa had learned to no longer fear the unknown that was Kang Yeosang. With three steps forward, he tugs the brunette until the boy is tumbling into his arms. 

“Welcome home,” Seonghwa murmurs quietly. Yeosang relaxes against him within seconds; that damn guarded smile appearing on his lips. It’s like watching a watercolor painting come to life. Slowly, but surely, Yeosang’s grin widens until he falls into a giggling mess. Easily, Seonghwa lifts him off the ground and twirls until the younger flails wildly. 

“Put me down, you big baby,” Yeosang squeaks. Finally, Seonghwa complies, but not before running his fingers through the man’s hair. Yeosang bats him away with an outstretched palm. “What are you, a mother hen?”

Hongjoong comes up behind the two and wraps his arms around the younger’s shoulders. “At this point, I’m pretty certain I would have died from starvation if he wasn’t so doting.” The tone is affectionate. Without the smile on Hongjoong’s face, Seonghwa would have nearly considered how serious the statement was. “Come on, we’re meeting Mingi and Yunho at the house.”

Jongho eyes the set of keys held carefully between Seonghwa’s fingers. “You learned how to drive?” He asks, his gaze never lifting from the metal. “You didn’t fail your exam? When the hell did you have time to learn to drive?” The disbelief colors his words like the slow drip of ink onto paper. The eldest laughs when Wooyoung whirls on Jongho with a wide-eyed stare.

“What makes you think Hwa wouldn’t be a wonderful car owner?” 

“Probably,” San mumbles, grinning when he focuses on Hongjoong’s face, “the fact that Seonghwa can hardly find his way out of a paper bag. Do you remember the first time we went to the lake–”

“Speaking of,” Hongjoong interrupts, “Lee Taemin told Yunho that they were moving the party to the old lake. I guess they got word of it from some dance students that also grew up in town.”San nods.

“Do we know them?” 

“Hopefully not,” Hongjoong mumbles before ushering the group in the direction of the parking lot. “The last thing I want to do tonight is go through a high school reunion with all of the people I could not stand.”

By the time Yunho and Mingi arrive at the house, half of the group is already three-sheets to the wind. Mingi opens the door first and immediately stumbles backward when San and Wooyoung charge at him like bulls in a glass shop. San wraps his arms around Mingi’s neck and his legs around the taller man’s waist. Mingi’s hair flops into his eyes as he laughs loudly; struggling to hold the older boy in his grip. 

“Koala!”

“Koala!” San slurs noisily. “Your hair? Red? Fantastic.” He presses a kiss to the Seoul student’s cheek before wiggling wildy. Mingi releases his squirming form only to have Wooyoung plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek as well. “I really love love. It’s perfect.” San says, meandering back to his seat on the couch with his boyfriend in tow. Wooyoung giggles as the man flops onto the cushion and pulls him down with him. 

“Mingi!” Hongjoong laughs, leaping off of the floor to hug the red head. “Following my footsteps?” He asks, motioning at the freshly dyed mop of hair. “San is right, you look wonderful, bud.” Seonghwa follows suit and offers the younger a wide smile. Within seconds, Mingi’s own face is blossoming into every apple orchard and ray of sun the universe has to offer. It’s like watching the inevitable heat death of the universe happen in slow-motion, however, this time it is a more positive outcome. That is to say: Song Mingi’s bright smile could disintegrate any worry in the world upon contact. 

“I missed you both,” he says softly, watching Yunho engage in an intense conversation with Yeosang and Jongho about the most recent update of some fantasy webcomic. “It’s nice to be home with people I actually care about.” The comment is quick and hardly loud enough for the couple to catch. When they do, however, Seonghwa shoots a worried glance in Hongjoong’s direction. The younger man’s eyes are just as wide, but Mingi brushes off their reactions easily. “Do you have vodka?” 

Hongjoong nods and leads the man away. Over his shoulder, he shoots one final look in Seonghwa’s direction.  _ Talk to Yunho. Now.  _ As though sensing the sudden tension in the room, Yunho’s voice fades from the air. His head snaps up and he whirls around to meet Seonghwa’s direct eye contact. Sighing, Seonghwa tilts his head carefully in the direction of the office. Yunho comes with him silently and only begins to speak once the door shuts behind them. 

“Before you ask, he won’t tell me what’s wrong,” Yunho mutters quietly. “Also, no I didn’t tell him anything about, you know, being in love with him for like ten years.” Seonghwa makes a soft noise in the back of his throat when he sees the gentle flush beginning to cover Yunho’s ears. “I think I messed up.”

“You didn’t even do anything, Yunho,” Seonghwa says tenderly, his palm settling on Yunho’s shoulder. “Stop beating yourself up for problems that don’t exist outside of your mind.” He knows it’s a hypocritical thing to say. Every conflict in life had a way of rooting itself in one’s brain. How could something be an issue if there wasn’t a single soul to question the situation at hand? Perception, aesthetics, and morality, were all contenders for the biggest narcissists when it came to growing and pruning the troubles of the mind. 

Yunho hums and meets Seonghwa’s eyes with his own blurry ones. “You say that, Hwa, but sometimes it’s hard to live life with blinders on.” His head falls against Seonghwa’s shoulder just as the office door opens. Yeosang sticks his head in cautiously. 

“Yun, Mingi is looking for you. He made you a drink.” Yeosang disappears just as quickly as he arrived, but leaves the door cracked open just slightly. The conversation is obviously over. Seonghwa reaches out to dry the few tears that streak their way down Yunho’s cheeks. 

“The sun will shine again, Yunho. Just keep walking in its light.”

Thirty minutes later, the group is testing their ability to balance on the old, wooden train tracks that lead to the party. Seonghwa, seeing hardly two steps in front of them, snaps his third polaroid of the night. As the camera flash illuminates the tracks in front of them, Mingi and Hongjoong stumble slightly in panic. However, Seonghwa knows that the photo will be a stunning one. The darkness reaches so far beyond them that the low-light from the flash and the green of the trees will only contrast their bright silhouettes. The tracks themselves are a beautiful parallel that pull the group further into the horizon. He smiles and tucks it alongside the polaroid he snapped of the eight before leaving the house and one of him and Hongjoong. The man in question whirls around with a frown. The momentum makes his delicate, tipsy, frame sway as he takes a step in his lover’s direction.

“Hey, sap,” he grumbles, pointing a finger in Seonghwa’s face. “Wh’yra takin’ pic-shurs of us?” The raven haired can only laugh as the shorter trips over one of the old, rotting planks of the track and falls against his chest. “Are ya’ laughin’ at me?”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa whispers against the flesh on the man’s temple. “I am actually. I took some others earlier, so I’m going to need to use your dad’s old dark room; if Seojun doesn’t mind.” For once, he’s glad to have stayed sober for the night. Despite them not driving, he still wanted to keep his wits in case of an emergency. Hongjoong, on the other hand, did not wish for the same thing. The younger needed the drinks to unwind, and although Seonghwa did not want him to be involved with any form of substance, he understood that it was not his call. Hongjoong’s counselor had even given him permission to let loose. And yet, something gnawed at Seonghwa’s nerves like a rat in a lab computer. 

Hongjoong harrumphs as they continue moving through the woods. Despite him not saying it outloud, Seonghwa knows what the man is saying with just his body language. It’s a conversation they have had a hundred times. _ “If my mom’s fiance has a problem with my boyfriend using my dad’s darkroom, that’s on him.”  _

Their friends scattered voices like a melody as they slowly approached their destination. Even from this distance, the booming bass of the party’s speakers echoed through the area like a battle cry. In some way, the music probably was. Ahead of them, Yunho and Mingi sing along with the song. It’s broken and cacophonous, but they seem happy. Relaxed. It’s a sight that Seonghwa wouldn’t give up for the world. Whatever would happen between the two, he would stand by them both. Their bond was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Truly, every pair within their group seemed to be held together by the red strings of fate. There would be no cutting anyone off; no matter the scenario. 

“It’s over there,” Jongho exclaims, his eyes bright. As the lake comes into view, so does the bonfire that the others have lit. Dozens of people mill around the flames like moths, but others lounge in the grass or splash in the chilly waves of the lake. Even the bitter scent of cheap beer and firewood makes Seonghwa’s heart drum with excitement. Parties were never his cup of tea, however, they made for phenomenal, consensual, photoshoots. “The guy by the DJ is Kai, right?” 

Yunho giggles. “Yeah, that’s Kim Jongin. I think,” he squints for a moment, searching for something in the crowd, “his boyfriend is the one tutting with the five dudes by the fire.” Jongho hums, carefully snaking his arm around Yeosang’s waist to pull him close. “Taemin is really interesting. You would probably get along with him, Sangie.” 

“Oh?” Yeosang asks. “What makes you say that?”

Yunho shrugs with a grin. “He’s an asshole.” The group bursts into loud laughter as Yeosang lets out an indignant screech. “I’m kidding,” Yunho gasps as Yeosang tries to worm away from Jongho. “He’s a sweetheart, but absolutely ruthless. You’re just similar.” The younger growls something fierce and filled to the brim with every curse he can muster. “Like that.”

Across the clearing, Kai’s attention falls on them easily. Even with the distance between them, he can see the white gleam of the man’s perfect teeth as he jogs toward them with a wave. His hair is a deep teal and falls flawlessly when he runs his fingers through it. Seonghwa can’t help the way his heart rate quickens in the man’s presence. Beside him, Hongjoong narrows his eyes with a pout.

“Yunho! Seonghwa, Hongjoong, San, and Wooyoung too. I’m so glad you all could make it,” Kai says, pulling Yunho to his chest in a bear hug. When he releases the man, he takes a step toward Seonghwa just as Hongjoong tugs his lover against his side. Kai looks between them for a few seconds, face blank, until suddenly a knowing expression falls over him. The corners of his eyes crinkle up like old paper as he high-fives San and Wooyoung instead. “I don’t know you guys yet, but I promise I will by the end of this,” Kai tells the others. Mingi practically melts at the dancer’s feet; charmed beyond belief. 

“I appreciate you letting us all come out, hyung,” Yunho says with a thankful sigh. “Classes have been killer lately. It feels good to just get out of the house.” He slings his arm over Mingi’s shoulders casually; blatantly missing the panicked look the red head gives him. “This is Song Mingi, my best friend since forever.” Yunho motions at Jongho, who puffs out his chest. “Choi Jongho, the vocalist of our generation and Yeosang’s personal bodyguard.” He hardly gets the words out by the time Jongho and Yeosang both are attempting to cuff him upside the head. 

Kai laughs, focus landing on Yeosang. “You’re the son of Horizon Company’s Director Kang?” Yeosang nods. The frown that paints his lips is telltale enough that he wants the topic to come to a close. Yet, Kai still pushes on. “My parents own Oasis. We’re basically business partners, then,” Kai says extending a hand. “Business partners that don’t want shit-fuck to do with our families, right?” 

With that, Yeosang’s cold look evaporates instantly. The edge doesn’t leave his eyes entirely, but it does dull. “Parents suck,” Yeosang mumbles quietly. He accepts the other man’s hand shake carefully. Kai chuckles. 

“Yeah, they really do.” As he lets go of Yeosang’s hand, he motions toward the DJ table he had been stationed at before. “I’m in charge of music tonight, but if you guys are bored, stop by for a chat and a drink. Taemin should be floating around somewhere, but honestly, he’s hard to keep track of when he’s in his element.” Kai gives them one last perfect smile before drifting back into the crowd. The moment he is out of earshot, Wooyoung makes a filthy noise while San pretends to swoon. 

“God plays favorites,” Mingi mumbles and fidgets with the hem of his light t-shirt. The flannel that is tied around his waist holds the fabric down, but it’s clear where the man’s insecurities are stemming from. Kai’s outfit of choice had been a simple pair of light wash jeans and a loose, white crop top. Yunho connects the two dots within a split second. 

“Yeah, buddy,” Yunho says, reaching down to lift the t-shirt’s edge. He gives it a light tug and it springs free from the makeshift flannel belt. Despite the whine that Mingi lets out as he covers his flushing face, Yunho motions at the flesh of his crush’s stomach. “You’re one of God’s favorites. You could wash a whole load of laundry on these suckers.” He punctuatest the sentence with a sharp slap to the skin. Mingi yelps and hops from one foot to another.

“Are we going to stand here comparing how built we are,” Jongho says, “or are we going to get absolutely trashed and make Seonghwa lead us home like a mother duck?” The group cheers just before the irritated groan can bubble from the eldest’s throat. With a sigh, he pinches the bridge of his nose. In a breath, the thundering footsteps of the other boys fade into the life of the party. Beside him, though, Hongjoong stares up at Seonghwa through thick lashes.

“Thank you.” He presses his nose into the crook of Seonghwa’s neck. “Yer’ givin’ everyone a chance t’ relax n’ I love ya fer’ it.” Seonghwa muffles his laugh behind a palm. Hongjoong wasn’t a sloppy drunk, but he was hardly a graceful one. The further he gets from sobriety, the closer he sounds to when they used to play pirates in their backyards. Seonghwa pushes a finger beneath his boyfriend’s chin and tilts his head up just enough so that their eyes meet. 

“I love you too, angel wing. Now, please have a good time so this is all worth it in the morning.” He leans down until Hongjoong’s lips slot against his. He wouldn’t say it’s a perfect fit; it’s nothing like pairing a lock and key. However, it is perfect for them. And he could never imagine another’s tasting quite so sweet, like strawberries and sugar. Hongjoong makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, asking for something deeper and more intense, and immediately Seonghwa pulls away. “Not while you’re drunk, babe.” 

Hongjoong frowns. His eyebrows web together as they furrow, making the overall expression childlike. They had an agreement that they would always follow. If they weren’t sober, there was nothing past a simple kiss. In a relationship built on trust and honesty, Seonghwa refused to budge for any bit of cloudiness. Control and consent were two different things, but he would be damned if they didn’t have both. With a gentle smile, he presses one more feather-light kiss to the younger’s Cupid’s bow. 

“It’s just a kiss,” Hongjoong mumbles.

“Everything is just a kiss to you,” Seonghwa starts, rubbing his temples. “And then suddenly, your hand is on my dick and my favorite shirt is in three pieces.” Hongjoong chuckles and wiggles until Seonghwa’s arm is around his waist. The older slips a hand into the other’s back pocket. Hongjoong lets out a content sigh and urges them forward. “Where to?”

Hongjoong hums quietly and points towards one of the many coolers lining the clearing’s outer edges. “Drinks,” he says and pulls gravitates towards the plastic box. Seonghwa removes his hand from his boyfriend’s pocket and kneels to open the lid. Inside, dozens of colorful cans fill dance in the ice. “Screwdriver.” He points to the orange bottle of vodka soda with a dopey grin. Seonghwa chuckles, fingers digging through the cold to free the glass, and passes it to the younger. 

“Slowly, please? You’re only getting three while we’re here.” 

Cap off the top, Hongjoong is already mid-swig when his eyes widen with the command. “What?” He slurs, chugging the liquid quickly. “Th’as not enough.” 

“It’ll have to be,” Seonghwa murmurs, foraging through the ice to locate a can of Pepsi. “I’m not carrying you all the way home.” He gives a quiet cheer when the blue and red label surfaces. Shimmying the can just enough, he manages to tug it out of the cooler easily. Beside him, Hongjoong takes a slow sip of his drink.

“Guess not,” he whispers into the bottle with a pout. “Where’r the boys?” Like a father who suddenly lost track of his unruly children in a grocery supercenter, he spins around once. And then twice. Almost a third time before Seonghwa’s arm shoots out to steady his swaying form. 

“Probably dancing. Do you want to go sit down?” It’s a careful question. He does not want to come off as an overprotective boyfriend, but everything about intoxicated Hongjoong makes his skin thrum with anxious electricity. He could not get hurt if he was just reclining somewhere. Instead of the fight he expects, Hongjoong shrugs. 

“Beach?” Gently, Seonghwa intertwines their fingers and begins to lead them through the crowd. More than once, people from school stop them. It’s simple to pretend that they are all close friends when the music is loud and the energy is high. It takes nearly fifteen minutes to cross the space, but when they do, Hongjoong’s bottle is already empty. 

Resolving to grab the man another drink in a moment, Seonghwa pulls his camera out with a smile and gives it a shake. “One more for tonight?” He tries to sugarcoat the request with his best puppy-eyes. Hongjoong giggles and pulls him into a hug. With a click and a pop, the camera snaps the photo. He knows that he held it too high and the lens probably only caught the top of their heads, but it’s still a memory he’ll cherish. 

Glancing back to the empty bottle, Seonghwa finds himself already searching out the nearest ice box. “Do you want another?” He asks and takes the old glass from his fingers. “There’s a box right–” 

“Yunho is crying,” Hongjoong interrupts. “Why’s Yun crying?” He hardly slurs. His tone is replaced by something filled with fury and fear. Fire and rain. Seonghwa whips around until he is facing the treeline to their far left. Sure enough, Yunho’s blonde head is tucked between his knees as his shoulders shake. Within seconds, the two oldest members of the group are charging toward him.

“Where’s Mingi?” Seonghwa asks in disbelief. His heart weighs a hundred pounds as he watches the way Yunho does not notice them approaching. “Mingi wouldn’t leave him unless...”

“Yunho?” Hongjoong calls softly, the light wash of his jeans staining against the grass and dirt. “Honey, are you alright?” Yunho lifts his head just enough to meet their eyes. His own are bloodshot and filled with tears. His shirt is damp from what smells to be beer. Immediately, Seonghwa is prepared to start a fight. 

“Who did this to you?” He growls, fists curling tightly at his sides. “Did someone dump their drink on you?” The eldest’s voice is as deep and dangerous as the sea. Yunho sobs again. This time, Hongjoong pulls him against his chest like an injured child. “Yun, what happened?”

Yunho curls in on himself, body trembling, and he points into the distance. “Some guys from Seoul National,” he whispers. It’s hardly a breath. Hardly enough for Seonghwa to process. But when he does, his heart rate speeds up exponentially. The calm before the storm. “They started saying shit about Mingi while I was grabbing our drinks. Some video. They were calling him SNU’s pillow princess.” Hongjoong’s fingers run through the man’s hair quickly. “I got in their faces and told them that they needed to keep his name out of their mouths. I– fuck,” he sobs. “They said there was a party two months ago and that Mingi hooked up with half a dozen people there.” 

Seonghwa lets out a soft gasp. “He wouldn’t–”

“No, he wouldn’t. I told them that, but I saw the video.” Yunho curls against Hongjoong. He looks like a fragile piece of glass, but somehow still as soft as fresh snow. “He was so out of it. God, he was so out of it,” his voice cracks. “There were so many people and he wasn’t all there and they just kept fucking going and I–” 

He throws himself off of Hongjoong’s lap just in time to crawl to the nearest bush and lose the contents of his stomach. With every heave that the younger lets out, Seonghwa feels himself dig further into his own mind. He moves quickly and kneels beside Yunho. His palm finds the man’s spine as he runs his fingers up and down the dips and divots like a father comforting his sick child. 

“I punched one of them,” Yunho utters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “And the other dumped his beer on me.” It explained the stench and his appearance. However, it did not explain where the other half of his duo was. 

“Fuck,’ Seonghwa whispers and pulls Yunho into a tight hug. He rocks the two of them as though they are nothing more than a lifeboat drifting along the open waves. If anyone moves too suddenly, the whole world would be turned upside down. After what feels like an eternity, Yunho finally begins to calm down. While his body still shakes and shifts, the tears seem to have stopped for now. “Yun, where’s Mingi?”

Yunho pulls back with a bizarre expression. “He was with San and Wooyoung.” It’s in an instant that he seems to realize the issue with that statement. “Oh god, I left him with San and Wooyoung. They wanted to dance.” That was at least a good sign. If they were in the crowd of dancers, at least they were in the public eye. Yunho’s hand shoots out to grip Seonghwa’s bicep before he can stand. “He doesn’t know that I know. He can’t–”

“We would never tell him, Yun. We can only be there for him every step of the way and offer him an ear when he needs it.” Despite his earlier state, the experience seems to have sobered Hongjoong up relatively well. The alcohol was still in his system, of course, and was probably the only reason he was not in an inconsolable state. However, the man’s way of turning into a leader within seconds was admirable. “Let’s go find them? I want to go home.”

“Home sounds good,” Yunho says wistfully. “And by home, I mean yours. We’re crashing at your place when we get there. You better have grabbed groceries recently.”

“Let’s find the others first, yeah?” Seonghwa mumbles, grabbing both men’s hands. “Follow the line-leader. If you see anyone, yell.”

It would only be right to tell the truth and say that seeing Mingi sent a stake right through Seonghwa’s heart. It was the thought of something like that happening to the man who could light up the entire universe with a single smile– the thought of that happening to anyone– that made the acid chew away at his stomach. Plastering on a bright look and a wide grin, he waves to the others who linger off to the side of the main party. 

“We saw your text,” Wooyoung says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why are we leaving so early?” 

At the same time, Hongjoong and Yunho offer the, “I’m not feeling well,” excuse. Wooyoung’s eyebrows furrow as he motions between the two of them. Seonghwa’s mind runs through every other option they could offer, but Wooyoung sighs. Rather than asking about it, he shrugs. 

“Have you guys seen Jongho and Yeosang?” Mingi asks and tilts his head to the side. A sharp whine pierces the air. Seonghwa whips around to see Yunho’s ears flushing a deep red as tears well in his eyes again. Mingi takes a step forward, face falling as Yunho stumbles backward. “Are you okay?” He whispers. 

Hongjoong places a hand on the red head’s shoulder with a soft smile. “He’s had a rough night. Tummy-ache.” Mingi nods sympathetically and shuffles back again. His attention does not leave Yunho, even as the other man shifts his figure so that they cannot meet each other’s gaze. “We haven’t seen them, no.”

It’s then that Jongho’s dark hair is seen racing through the crowd toward them. When he comes to a screeching halt, out of breath and bent over at the waist, Seonghwa sees the grass stains that cover his usually pristine white jeans. The blood that soaks through the cuts and scrapes that line his arms. The fresh bruise that blooms on his jaw. 

“Jongho? What the fuck happened to you?” San exclaims. 

Breathlessly, Jongho says the words that none of them will ever be able to forget. He speaks them as though they are a prophecy that has already begun to come true. With a broken sob and a tired cry, he utters, “They took him.” 

It was April 19th, when Kang Yeosang disappeared. On the 21st, he was a missing person. It was April 23rd when they sat outside the police station begging to be heard; Kang Yeosang had been kidnapped. It was April 26th when they declared him a runaway. It was April 29th when Yeosang appeared in the corner of Seonghwa’s room with a soft smile and a wave. It was April 30th when Seonghwa woke up in Hongjoong’s loving arms, rambling about the man who only seemed to exist in their dreams.

It was April when the world turned upside down. 

It was April.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, loves! Thank you for reading. 
> 
> The next chapter will be where all of the trigger warnings come into place. It is a very disturbing thing and I genuinely wish I did not write it, but I never abandon a project. 
> 
> See you in a few days!
> 
> As always, find me on Twitter: @KyojinOuji   
> I love new friends.
> 
> Cheers!


	3. HIGANBANA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ☽ TW: Rape, Abuse, Suicide, Self-harm, Drug Abuse, Past Addiction, Death, Violence, Kidnapping
> 
> PLEASE do not read this if any of these topics are even slightly triggering for you. Always care for your mental health and do not force yourself to read something that can potentially damage you. I care about all of my readers very dearly and only want the best for you. ☾

> _ “In my own turn, I'm trying to reach out I know I'll get there soon. _
> 
> _ There's a hole in the earth here and we're walking round the edges _
> 
> _ You were flaunting all your open wounds. _
> 
> _ I can't express them better than you. _
> 
> _ You have buried childish qualities; friend, make sense of me. _
> 
> _ I have many destructive qualities; friend, make sense of me. _
> 
> _ It's like an old rhyme: your father's a liar while my father's lying down, _
> 
> _ In a hole in the earth there and I'm scared I'll forget him. _
> 
> _ I'm still haunted by those open wounds. _
> 
> _ I won't express them truly to you.” _
> 
> **_A Hole in the Earth_ ** _ \- Daughter _

* * *

**_TWENTY - OCTOBER_ **

In the sea of black, he can hardly make out the four figures he longs most to stand beside. It’s three steps forward. A glance towards the closed casket at the front of the gathering. Because of course, it’s closed. It could never have stayed open. The white lilies that rest on top of its dark mahogany beckon him like a searchlight in the dark. It’s three steps forward when an arm snakes around his waist.  _ When did he get so thin? _

“Another funeral,” someone says. “Why do bad things happen to good people?”

**_TWENTY - JULY_ **

The chilly water brushes over his toes gently. Each lapping wave is just enough to keep Seonghwa tethered to the world around him. He never could have imagined a world where silence was the best comfort, but watching the others lounge around the beach, he understands why it is. With the silence came the opportunity to hear one’s own thoughts; to dream and believe that all is okay. 

Seonghwa flops onto his back, bare skin smacking the wet sand and dirt with a loud slap, and allows his eyes to drift shut. The sun watches over him for all that she is worth. The light was kind. The light did not allow the stars to steal away her children in the dead of night. It’s when he feels soft breath tickle his cheeks that his lids snap open. Hazel eyes gaze back, warm and leveled. Kang Yeosang.

“I told you to stop doing that,” Seonghwa mutters, rolling onto his side so that the other man cannot see the way he struggles to catch his breath. From the edge of the water, Hongjoong glances up as Seonghwa’s voice enters the air. He raises an inquisitive eyebrow and lets his gaze drift to Seonghwa’s side slowly. “Why is it me, Yeo?” When he sits up, his lover is already wading out of the water. “Why did you pick me?”

Yeosang shrugs.  _ Don’t know.  _ Or rather, he wouldn’t say. In the months since the man had disappeared, he had become a constant figure in Seonghwa’s life. He was always there, watching and waiting, for the moment the time was right. It was not as though Seonghwa knew what that time was supposed to be. And by the looks of it, Yeosang didn’t know either.

“Is Sangie here?” Hongjoong asks, toweling his hair off like a dog after a bath. Seonghwa nods and points to his left with a frown. “Hey, bud,” the now platinum blonde says with a smile. “I’d ask you if you had lunch yet, but I feel like that’s probably a stupid question.” Yeosang’s light eyes widen comically before he covers his silent laugh with a sweater paw. It’s the same sweater he wore the night of the party. Everything about him is identical to the last time Seonghwa saw him. His chest punches painfully as he remembers the way Jongho ran up to them covered in blood and coated in a thick layer of terror. “Has he–”

“Still no,” Seonghwa mumbles, “I don’t think he can Joong.” Yeosang was always quiet. It was the barrier he threw up between himself and the people he found the least interesting. When he got to know the boy, however, Seonghwa learned that it was the way the younger protected his heart. Now, though, Yeosang could not utter a word even if he wanted to. And more often than not, it seemed like that was his greatest desire.

Hongjoong hums softly and allows his gaze to drift to the various spaces around the lake that the others have gravitated to. Yunho and Mingi splash in the shallow portion of the water; laughing maniacally as they constantly try to shove the other under. San and Wooyoung recline on the opposite end of the beach, both soaking up the sun peacefully. And in the shade, just along the treeline, Jongho fiddles with his laptop. It was his lifeline along with the mobile hotspot he took everywhere there was not Wi-Fi. 

Jongho had changed more than anyone else following the disappearance. After they learned that the police were putting Yeosang’s case on the backburner, he took matters into his own hands. From Kai and Taemin, he had gathered an extensive list of everyone that attended the bonfire. Diving further, he collected every bit of photographic and video evidence that he could to recreate the night. And yet, it still was not enough. 

The night Seonghwa first encountered Yeosang again, he called Jongho. As Hongjoong held him tightly, Seonghwa explained everything to the missing man’s boyfriend. There was not much to cover, but it was still only right in his heart and soul. When Seonghwa awoke at 10:40pm after being forced into a restless sleep for the first time in weeks, he caught sight of a whisper-like movement in the corner of his room. As his focus settled on the figure before him, he recognized the eyes before he took in the situation. A simple wave was all it took. In seconds, he was throwing himself at the waving man only to fall directly onto the floor. It was the sound of his body slamming into the hardwood that startled Hongjoong out of his dreamless state. 

“Hwa, what are you–”

“Yeosang,” Seonghwa gasped, sitting upright. “He’s right here.” Hongjoong was silent. The only sound that passed through the room as Seonghwa watched Yeosang’s silhouette sway back and forth in the moonlight shadows was the subtle drum of rain against the window. 

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong whispered, “there’s no one there. You had a nightmare–” It was the creaking of the bed springs as the younger inched closer to the edge that broke him. With a soft cry, Seonghwa pointed at the missing boy once again. He was right there.  _ He was right there.  _

“He’s standing by the dresser. Don’t you see him? You have to see him–” His voice shattered under the pressure of his heart. “You have to see him,” he repeated, pleading. “ _ Why don’t you see him? _ ” And when he turned to face Hongjoong, his eyes landed on the body mirror they had hung on the back of their bedroom door. Only Seonghwa’s crumpled form and Hongjoong’s cautious one were visible. Where the lingering figure of Yeosang glimmered in the moonlight, there was no one. 

It was then that Yeosang spoke. Slowly and carefully, he opened his mouth, but produced no sound. It took multiple tries with Seonghwa’s dazed mind fogged over by the earlier terror, but in time he realized that the goal was to read Yeosang’s lips.  _ Only you can see me. _

“Are you actually there?” Seonghwa asked. Teetering on the mattress, Hongjoong shoots him a peculiar look. “Why are you here?”

_ Part of me, but I don’t know.  _ Yeosang replied. It was a calculated sentence, and yet, clumsy all the same. As though he was adjusting to the situation as well.  _ I trust you. _

“Why not Jongho?” Seonghwa feels Hongjoong kneel on the floor next to him. His arms wrap around the older’s waist and pull him tightly against his chest. “Yeosang, why didn’t you go to Jongho? He needs you–” 

_ He has no one, but you have each other.  _ The younger mouths, finally flopping onto the floor to sit cross-legged in front of the couple.  _ Would you believe him if he told you I came to him? _

“No,” Seonghwa mutters. Yeosang makes a gesture that definitely reads ‘told-ya-so’ and leans his back against the wall. “I don’t even believe me.” Hongjoong presses a hand to his bicep, fingers curling around the fabric sleeve of his sleep shirt. “What happened to you, Yeosang?”

The boy shrugs.  _ Don’t remember.  _ He breaks eye contact, instead training his gaze on the reflection of nothing.  _ Don’t remember.  _ It’s a repeated phrase, like a mantra, and suddenly the missing man is gone. Seonghwa gasps and tugs out of Hongjoong’s hold. On his hands and knees, he pats the spot where Yeosang once sat in a panic. The area is cold, as though winter frost settled over it like a lullaby. 

“Where did he go?” Hongjoong asks. 

“I don’t know,” Seonghwa whispers, finally meeting his lover’s eyes. “But I think he’ll be back.”

“Do we tell Jongho?” When the older nods, Hongjoong is already scrambling for his cellphone. “What are you going to say? Fuck, how are you going to say it?”

Seonghwa draws in a shaky breath. “I guess we’ll find out.” When his finger presses the glass surface of the screen, the dark room lights up with Jongho’s contact screen. It takes three shrill rings before the youngest’s voice grumbles through the speaker. 

“Were you asleep?” Seonghwa hopes nothing more than for him to have not awoken the boy. He could not imagine how little sleep he had gotten in the past weeks. Jongho mumbles some kind of ‘no’ before Seonghwa is sighing into the phone. “Do you have a moment to talk?”

“Well, hyung, I don’t think I have much else to do,” Jongho says bitterly. It isn’t his fault. None of the anger was truly directed at the two older men. “What’s wrong?”

Seonghwa sucks in a deep breath before hardly letting out the words, “I saw Yeosang tonight.” When he recounts the story, Jongho stays silent. Until finally, Seonghwa reaches the end with a broken sob. He didn’t realize he was crying. Not even as Hongjoong pulled him into his lap and ran his fingers up and down his spine for the duration of the tale. 

Finally, Jongho says, “I’m not surprised.” Seonghwa makes a puzzled noise in the back of his throat. Suddenly, Jongho’s laughter is bubbling through the speaker like lava. “That bastard wouldn’t go down without a fight.”

And now, a month later, Jongho sits in the shade still piecing together every bit of information he could wiggle out of Yeosang. Seonghwa had become the interpreter between the missing man and the other six. It was like watching a storybook bind itself together in slow, languid motions. They could pull certain details like the scents and colors that Yeosang could recall, but if they pushed too hard, he fractured into a million tiny pieces. 

Maybe, if there had been time between Yeosang’s disappearance and the beginning of whatever this had become, it would have been easier for the group to separate reality from hope. The boy appeared seemingly at random. Even if he was asked what brought him there, he never quite knew the answer. It was always just a feeling. Maybe, this Yeosang was just a feeling.

“Jongho!” Hongjoong calls, turning towards the younger man. Jongho’s head flies up as though he had been struck by a hot match. When his attention settles on Hongjoong’s waving hand, he sticks out his bottom lip as though irritated to have been interrupted. “Yeosang’s here, do you wanna talk to him?” It’s a second before his eyes light up and he quickly tosses his belongings into a bag. 

“Of course I want to talk to my boyfriend,” Jongho yells back. Yeosang again covers his smile. It was awkward to be in the center of the two, but Seonghwa wouldn’t give it up for anything. Seeing them let go, just for a second, was all that mattered. Even as Jongho approaches already spewing off a hundred different theories he had come up with since the night prior. Every night that Yeosang appeared, Seonghwa dropped everything to call Jongho and relay messages for the couple.

_ There he goes, _ Yeosang says.  _ Did he have coffee already? He’s supposed to be cutting back.  _ Seonghwa only shrugs as Jongho slams into the dirt beside them. 

“Last time, you said wherever you are smells like vinegar and rotten eggs. So, I started researching local fermentation and packaging plants nearby. There aren’t any in town, but I found one right on the outskirts that went under three years back because of your dad’s company.” Jongho pulls the laptop back out and spins it to where he presumes Yeosang is sitting. With a soft chuckle, Seonghwa adjusts it just slightly until the screen is actually facing the younger man. “Does this look familiar?”

Yeosang frowns and moves closer to the screen. Squinting, he stares at a photo of the vacant building before glancing up to shake his head. Seonghwa copies the movement and listens to the tired groan that Jongho lets out. The past few weeks had been just like this. Once they fell into a rhythm, Jongho basically had started preparing his own powerpoints of every lead he could gather. 

Hongjoong pinches the bridge of his nose. Evidently, the constant dead ends were beginning to take a toll on his stress levels. Just as he begins to mutter something under his breath, a sudden look of recognition shoots over his features. He turns towards Yeosang quickly. 

“Sangie, you mentioned seeing red. Do you think it could be the paint of that building?” He motions back at the photo where the factory’s bright crimson barn sits just behind the main structure. “Do you think...you’re inside there?” Yeosang’s mouth opens into a small ‘o’ as he glances between the barn and Hongjoong frantically. For a moment, Seonghwa thinks that will be today’s breaking point. Instead, Yeosang flits over to Jongho and wraps his arms tightly around the man’s torso. The youngest shivers, but his eyes fall shut slowly. 

“He’s hugging you,” Seonghwa whispers.

“I know,” Jongho says softly. “I can feel him. Not physically, but whenever he touches me, it’s like stepping into a walk-in freezer.” Yeosang pulls back to shoot him a concerned glare. “It’s not a bad thing, Sang. Come back here.” Yeosang covers his mouth again, but curls into the man’s chest easily. Seongwha turns away and closes Jongho’s laptop gently. With a laugh, Hongjoong leans against his shoulder. 

“If being a photographer falls through, maybe you could become a medium.” They do not speak of Yeosang as though he is a ghost. He is not dead. He is missing and his spirit is simply out for a walk. Seonghwa had heard of it; astral projection. However, he was never certain whether or not the experiences people had were true. Though, who was he to question the authenticity of a person’s story? Seonghwa smiles and presses a kiss to Hongjoong’s temple. Being a medium wouldn’t be the worst thing. 

Over lunch, the group bickers while sitting at the small roadside dairy. Each man equipped with their own milkshake, fries, and a burger, they should be content to just eat. However, Mingi finds it within himself to start World War III by dipping a ketchup covered fry into Yunho’s cookies and creme shake. Yunho makes a weird noise in the back of his throat before letting out a high-pitched battle cry. 

“You contaminated it!” He squawks, reaching across the table to snatch Mingi’s mint chocolate one right out of his hand. Mingi makes a defeated noise, but does not fight the inevitable. Instead, he only smiles as Yunho takes a long sip of the drink before pouting. “It tastes like toothpaste.”

“You say that every time,” Wooyoung mutters, rolling his eyes. “And yet, you still do it.” He grabs a fry from San’s basket and dips it in the ice cream in front of him; ignoring the dramatic gag his boyfriend lets out. “Just date already.” With the words, both men immediately fall silent. 

Seonghwa watches the way Yunho’s eyes widen significantly before they focus directly on him. The eldest does his best to offer what he hopes comes across as a reassuring smile. The younger man sighs gently and covers it up by taking a bite of his burger silently. No one else seems to notice the discomfort in the air; even as Hongjoong carefully intertwines their fingers and offers a gentle squeeze. With a frown, Mingi takes back his milkshake and wraps his lips around the red and white straw. Gulping, he grins at Yunho.

“He’s out of my league,” Mingi laughs, pointing at Yunho’s slowly flushing face. “Most pretty people are.” 

“That’s a lie,” San squawks indignantly. “You’re a pretty person, you big baby. Have you ever even glanced at your bone structure?”

“Why are you analyzing people’s bones, Sannie?” Wooyoung asks, an eyebrow raised. “Is that a kink? Bones?” San reaches out to smack his boyfriend’s wrist with a loud squeak. “So, it is.” The conversation falls into an intense debate about the morality of certain fetishes within minutes. Despite the change in tone, Yunho draws further into himself like an awkward waltz. When Seonghwa catches his attention, the man only offers a distant stare paired with a half-smile. 

It’s when Mingi pulls him to the side on the way to the car, feigning innocence and asking the eldest to help him purchase a rootbeer float for the drive home, that Seonghwa begins to see the whole picture. Mingi’s way of dancing around a topic; his unwillingness to delve too far into his personal life. After Yeosang’s disappearance, no one went back to classes. Instead, they completed their semester under remote coursework. It was excused by each of the three colleges, however, SNU had a difficult time letting Mingi go home for the summer. It took finagling before he was allowed to have an early release and even more to convince his professors to give permission for online exams. Mingi told the group with a faltering smile that it was because he did not have anyone else on campus; there was no one to cheat off of. And now, standing next to the red head while they wait for the drink to arrive in the pick-up window, Mingi does not meet his eyes. 

“I don’t think they’re going to let me go back, hyung,” he says quietly, drilling holes into the beat-up canvas of his sneakers. “They told me that something new surfaced; evidence that I’m unfit for the school.” Seonghwa feels himself gasp before he hears the sound. Finally, Mingi glances up as the girl at the counter calls their order. “I think I know what they found.”

“Mingi,” Seonghwa says softly as the other wraps his fingers around the drink. “Do you want to talk about it?” His voice is like the gently lapping waves of the lake in the midnight sun. The red strands of Mingi’s fluffy style bounce with his subtle nod. “Now?”

“Can I stay at your place?” He asks. “I won’t take up too much space. I’ll just sleep on the couch.” If someone could sound as though they were about to dissolve beneath the pressure of life, Mingi would have been that soul. “I just can’t face my mom yet.”

“Of course, angel.” 

By the time they drop everyone off, having stashed seven bodies in the same vehicle, Seonghwa dreads the conversation he knows is imminent. And when they walk in the front door, Mingi immediately crumbles against the threshold’s wooden floor like a ragdoll. Hongjoong yelps and drops onto his knees beside the man. 

“Gi? Mingi, what’s wrong baby?” Hongjoong whispers, moving close enough to wrap his arms around the youngest and pull him against his chest. Mingi makes a dreadful noise, a broken sob laced with glass shards and splintered hope. Within a second, he is speaking fast and hushed. His words come out like shrapnel as he bellows into Hongjoong’s shirt. “Love, I need you to take a deep breath, okay? Can you do that for me?”

The blonde’s fingers run through Mingi’s hair, trying to soothe him even for the slightest moment. Seonghwa knows the goal, Hongjoong has done it enough for him, and that is to keep the younger man tethered to reality. Mingi cries out again, this time curling further in on himself, and Seonghwa kneels beside the two men. With a cautious hand, he runs his palm down the boy’s spine. It’s then that Mingi speaks.

“There was a party.” Seonghwa’s blood runs icy. Dripping venom courses through his veins slowly; neon coated and radiating every bit of hatred that he could ever feel. “Someone gave me a drink. And then another. And I was there with people, but I couldn’t find them,” Mingi hiccups.

Hongjoong pauses his ministrations. “Your friends?” He asks quickly, meeting Seonghwa’s eyes over the top of the younger’s head. Seonghwa shakes his head quickly, but Mingi is already answering. 

“Thought so,” he hiccups. “We were for a while. Friends don’t just leave you though.” He was alone. Of all the things Mingi could be, alone was not the one that Seonghwa could handle the thought of. Mingi, who clung to their sides as they watched horror movies. Mingi, who sat in people’s laps just to hear the heavy beat of their heart. Mingi, who laughed like he invented sunlight and smiled with all of every constellation painting the canvas of his face. Mingi, who was never meant to be on his own. “Some girl found me on the porch,” he whispers. “She lead me inside, told her friends, and I woke up in a frat house closet with half of my buttons missing and hickies all over my body. I–Fuck.” His voice crackles as he lets out another wet sob. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. I –” He cries again, gripping Hongjoong’s t-shirt like it’s the final rope out of a crowded prison cell. Only this time, the line is fraying.  _ Who knows how close it is to snapping right in two? _

Seonghwa traces the outline of a hibiscus onto Mingi’s back. “You don’t have to keep going, baby,” he hums. “We’ll set up a spot for you wherever you want. You can even stay in our bed if you need to.” Hongjoong nods. “None of this is your fault. Whoever did that to you deserves to rot in Hell for the rest of eternity.” Mingi’s shoulders bounce up and down as the tears continue to fall. When he finally seems to calm down, his eyes heavy and swollen, the younger tries his hardest to meet Seonghwa’s gaze. 

“Can I stay in your bed?” He asks quietly. For a second, he reminds Seonghwa of a child ready to be scolded for waking their parents up after a nightmare. “With you both. It’s okay if I can’t. It’s probably awkward, so I’ll just sleep on the couch–” Hongjoong shushes him softly by pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. 

“It’s not awkward, sweetheart. Of course, you can.” And so he does. 

It’s 10:30pm when peace finally seems to settle over their bedroom. Mingi, despite insisting that he would be fine to sleep on the outer edge of the mattress, instead found himself wrapped tightly between the couple. It’s before his breathing calms, and the world finds its humming lullaby, that the red head utters a final sentence that somehow chills Seonghwa to the bone. Spoken softly enough that it could have been a mistake, if not for the perfect harmony in which it fell into the night’s earlier context, Mingi speaks his prophecy. 

“I don’t think I believe in Hell.”

Seonghwa sees him then. Just like every night, Yeosang stands in the corner of the room with a guarded look. His usually warm eyes cut like a rigid blade when they lock onto Seonghwa’s. Silently, Yeosang mouths,  _ Hell is no different from Earth itself. _

When the morning light finally filters through the curtains, Mingi is nowhere to be found. Instead, Seonghwa wakes to the icy feeling of Yeosang’s touch dancing over his cheek. Hongjoong’s arms are wrapped tightly around his midsection, scorching the bare skin where his shirt has lifted during the night. As he processes his surroundings, it’s the panicked look that flickers over Yeosang’s face like a glitching VCR loop.

“Where’s Mingi?” Seonghwa asks. That same bitter venom drips down his spine steadily. Hongjoong stirs with his voice. “Yeosang, where’s Mingi?” He hears the way the pitch cracks. He hears the desperation that floods him like a crashing wave on the shore. “Yeo–”

_ Video. Online everywhere. Where’s your phone? _

Ignoring the surprised yelp that his boyfriend lets out, Seonghwa scrambles off of the mattress like a bat out of hell. Racing to the dresser where his phone usually charges, he realizes that the space is devoid of the device.  _ Kitchen table.  _ He does not have to be told twice before he is tearing through the house and throwing himself at the familiar gold case. As the screen flickers to life, he sees the thirty-seven missed calls and over one hundred texts. The last text came in only three minutes prior from Yunho. Within a second, his shaking fingers are unlocking the phone and opening the conversation. 

**_July 23rd, 8:14am_ **

**From Yunnie:**

_ Call me _

_ Call me _

_ Call me _

_ Fucking call me back _

_ Seonghwa _

_ please god fuckign call me back  _

_ answer your phone _

_ SEONGHWA FUCKING ANSWER YOUR PHONE _

_ GOD DAMNIT _

_ come to mingis  _

_ Please  _

_ please i can t do this _

_ Please  _

Hongjoong pads up behind him quietly. His voice is gruff and still riddled with sleep, but it’s obvious that he is beyond alert. “What’s going on?” He asks. 

“I don’t know,” Seonghwa whispers, racing to the front door. “We need to go to Mingi’s. Call Yunho and I’ll drive; just grab your coat.” He snags the keys from the dish by the door and slips his sneakers on haphazardly. It’s a dreamlike motion, as though they’ve been here before, and as the two fly through the door, he can’t help but wonder what any of them did to deserve this. 

It’s the silence of Mingi’s house when they pull up and the way Yunho sits with his head in his hands on the porch. It’s the way the man bursts into tears as he runs towards them. It’s the crimson on his pants and hands. It’s the rancid scent of overpowering iron. It’s everything that makes Seonghwa go into autopilot as he whispers, “Where is he?” 

Yunho crumples into Seonghwa’s arms. “In the bathroom. He’s in the bathroom. He’s just fucking laying there like he’s sleeping, but everything is so bloody. He’s so bloody.” Yunho’s body trembles as he babbles. “The ambulance is on its way.” 

It is July 23rd when the video of Song Mingi’s rape gets spread across social media after being sold to a well-known porn site. It is July 22nd when Seoul National University expels one of their top music students for seemingly no reason. It is July 23rd when everyone learns why. It is July 23rd when Seonghwa leads paramedics into the porcelain bathroom of one of his best friend’s childhood homes. It is July 23rd when the sun begins to dim.

It is July 23rd when Song Mingi ends his own life. 

It is July.

**_TWENTY - AUGUST_ **

He does not remember when he stopped taking photos. As Seongwha shifts through box after box of polaroids, seated on the floor of Hongjoong’s childhood home, he relieves every memory like a flashbulb going off before his very eyes. One moment, it's ten-year-old Hongjoong sitting on the edge of his parents' porch swing, blowing bubbles without a care in the world. The next, it’s Mingi, Wooyoung, and San, trying to smother each other with pillows the summer before university. 

And then the flash flickers again. It’s Hongjoong’s father reading in the garden. And Yunho in the lake. It’s the roadside dairy and Mingi covered in ice cream. It’s Yeosang laughing from behind a sweater paw; sunset distant in the background. It’s Jongho mid-scream with Mingi and Yunho pressing kisses to both of his cheeks. It’s Mingi. It’s Yeosang. It’s everyone. And then, it is no one. The photos, he realizes, stopped the night of the party. The few he took that night were all in a drawer at their house.

A throat clears from the entryway to the living room. There, a dark-haired man smiles back at him. Clearing himself from his thoughts, Seonghwa offers a soft chuckle. “Seojun, what can I do for you?” He asks. 

Hongjoong’s stepfather enters the room with his hands in his pockets. “I just wanted to see how things were going,” he says. “Joongie mentioned that you get into a zone whenever you work.” The man motions at the empty space next to Seonghwa. His wedding ring glints in the light. “Mind if I sit?” 

Seonghwa smiles and pats the spot with a nod. “Of course not,” he chuckles. “This is your house after all.” Seojun smiles and makes himself comfortable with relative ease. It’s rare that the two have a moment alone together, however, Seonghwa has been put in charge of gathering photos for Mingi’s memorial. The funeral itself had been a process that did nothing to reflect the man’s brilliant aura. To make amends, the group was planning to have a celebration of life at the lake on August 9th; what would be his nineteenth birthday. They were desperate to make amends with the final memory that they had of the younger.

“You’re talented, you know?” Seojun whistles, lifting a polaroid from one of the boxes. “Your eye for color is intense. Every one of these has its own story, right?” Seonghwa laughs. 

“I would hope that they do. Otherwise, I might be a rather poor photography student.”

Seonjun grins and shifts to another set of prints. “Are you planning to go back to school this semester? I can’t even imagine how you feel. Hongjoong doesn’t talk about it.” The older man looks to him as though he will spill the secrets to Hongjoong’s inner emotions. Hongjoong who went with his mother to pick up the floral arrangement for the ceremony. 

Seonghwa hums softly. “I will be, yes. Mingi and Yeosang both wouldn’t want us to put our lives on hold for them,” he says. “That doesn’t mean we cannot spare a moment to look back at memories though.” He hopes the words come out with less ice frosting over their surfaces than he means for them to. It is not that he doesn’t enjoy Seojun’s company. It is simply that the man had a way of trying to overstep his boundaries. Ever since the day that Seojun asked to turn Hongjoong’s father’s darkroom into a storage unit, Seonghwa felt as though he needed to dance around the person before him. Of course, they had refused his request. Yet, for some reason, Seonghwa couldn’t shake the feeling that he had disappointed the man. 

Lost to their thoughts, the sound of a car door is what makes them both jump. With a sheepish chuckle, Seojun’s palm finds the back of his neck. He holds out a fist to Seonghwa with a soft smile. For a moment, the younger can only stare at his hand as though it belongs to an alien creature.  _ A fistbump.  _ Hongjoong’s stepfather wants a damn fistbump. With a laugh, Seonghwa knocks his knuckles against the other man’s just as Hongjoong barrels through the door. 

“Look how pretty!” He shoves the flowers into Seonghwa’s face, thrumming with excitement. His warm gaze travels to the mess behind them. With a frown, he lowers the bouquet and tilts his head. “Are you getting anywhere?” 

“I think so,” Seonghwa says. “The last group picture I have is from the bonfire, but it’s at our house, so we’ll have to grab it later.” He wraps his fingers around the base of the bouquet and gives it a careful sniff. “They are beautiful, angel.”

Hongjoong presses a soft kiss to his nose. “So are you.” He twirls out of the way before Seonghwa can tug him into a tight embrace. It’s like watching the most aesthetic picture piece itself together bit by bit; a developing story that has no end. The fuzzy feeling of admiration and pride blossoms in his chest, mimicking the way the white lilies twist and curl like streamers.

Carrying the variety of photos, and leftovers Hongjoong's mother stacked them up with, back to their own house does not prove to be that intricate of a challenge. The moment the Tupperware is tucked tightly among the carryout dishes from nights prior, Seonghwa turns to find the younger man leaning against the counter. Hongjoong's eyes glisten in the low-light of their small kitchen. When he catches his lover's eye, his nose scrunches up as he tries to shoot back a reassuring smile. It's a silent  _ 'I'm fine. This too shall pass'- _ style expression that Seonghwa knows all too well. Before the first tear falls, he is pulling the blond to his chest with a heavy sigh. Just as quickly, Seonghwa is lowering them to their kitchen floor and positioning Hongjoong in his lap.

"Why Mingi? Out of every person in this universe, why him?" It's a phrase laced with broken glass and a shuddered cry. As Hongjoong pushes his forehead into the holder's shoulder, Seonghwa scrambles for any kind of response. Anything to take them out of this world, just for a minute, and let them dance among the stars. The wet patch on his shirt grows with every soundless sob Hongjoong lets out of his delicate frame. There are no answers. There is nothing reassuring that can come past his lips, because he knows there will never be a way to replace the younger man. Instead, he just hums soothingly and runs his fingers down the space between Hongjoong's shoulder blades. 

One day, the world won't make breathing quite so painful. One day, the sun will filter through the clouds like a candle flickering in a cabin window. One day, the dead of night won't feel so suffocating; so silent. But for now, they will break over and over until there is just a moment to realize the beauty that life still has to offer; past all of the darkness and into the sunrise.

When Hongjoong's body no longer shakes, when the tears have dried on his cheeks like salt off the sea, Seonghwa still holds onto his shoulders as though he might dissipate beneath his touch. When the quiet threatens to consume them, Seonghwa asks, "Do you want to look through the pictures I found?" Hongjoong nods with a watery smile.

Carefully, the older helps him right himself and steadies a palm on his shoulder. He holds out his fingers and feels his heart flutter when the man intertwines them. Every time is like the first. It's one step in front of the other as they work to pull each other from the floor and over to the table where the polaroids sit neatly packaged.

As they flip through the photos, Hongjoong's expression goes through a gradient. It's like watching a caterpillar go through metamorphosis. By the time he settles on the final batch, there is a genuine smile on his face. It is the only thing Seonghwa could have asked for. He reaches out to squeeze the younger's fingers between his own. When Hongjoong's molasses stare warms him like honey, he presses his lips to the knuckles adorned with what seems like a dozen rings. Maybe one day, he would add a more permanent band to them.

"You said we have more in the drawer, right?"

"A few," Seonghwa says softly. "They are from the night of the bonfire." Hongjoong's face wilts at the mention. The emperor butterfly loses its crown. "One of them has all of us, so I figured it would only be right." It's enough that some of the brightness returns to Hongjoong's eyes.

When he goes to retrieve them, Seonghwa stops at the edge of the bed, photos in his grip. Hand poised on the wooden surface of the drawer, he can only stare at their filmy surface with a quiet drumming that echoes behind his ribs. The group picture, everyone gathered closely together in their living room, feels like a forbidden memory. Mingi and Yeosang wear twin expressions of vivid admiration and joy. In that room, they were never alone. They were a family. 

Seonghwa does not notice the tears as they roll down his cheeks until they splatter on the polaroid. "Shit," he whispers, gently patting the wet paper against his jeans. "Shit, stop that." The heels of his palms press against the delicate skin beneath his eyes. Hissing, he works the dampness away slowly but surely. He couldn't break. For Hongjoong's sake. For everyone's sake.

Checking the mirror, he vouches that the flush on his skin is just subtle enough that his boyfriend will not be suspicious. Carefully, he grips the polaroids and travels down the corridor. With a smile, he sets the photos on the table and chuckles softly when Hongjoong's eyes light up. The blonde makes a tiny grabbing motion before snatching the pieces from the surface with a grin. The moment is delicate as his lover analyzes the memories; fondness apparent. And then suddenly, his brows furrow.

"What's this one?" He asks, lifting an almost blank photo out of the pile. Seonghwa frowns and takes it from him carefully. It is a simple picture of the tops of two heads. One, a navy blue mop of hair. The other, a black swoop.

"It's us," Seonghwa says, looking closely. "I tried to take a picture when you were drunk, but it didn't turn out right. And then, you saw Yunho by the treeline, so we couldn't retake it."

"What about the background?" Hongjoong asks. At first, Seonghwa has no idea how to respond. It's just grass, really, and a few blurry figures where the flash could hardly reach. But then, he sees it. The sweater, a beacon of yellow in the darkness, and an unmistakable figure. "Is that—"

"Yeosang," Seonghwa breathes. Within a second, the icy drip returns. Just across the kitchen, the man's wispy silhouette flickers into existence. His expression is grim. "We need to tell the others."

It does not take long to decide what they must do. Jongho, pinching the bridge of his nose, makes a noise in the back of his throat. "It's too blurry to make out the other person," he says. "Back in Busan, I worked with an editor that had access to pretty high-quality software. I can ask her if she'll run the photo through it and see if we can maybe put a face on the guy?"

"And confirm if it's Yeosang," Yunho says softly. The dark bags under his eyes must weigh a hundred pounds. In the weeks following Mingi's death, he had taken it upon himself to orchestrate a full-scale investigation against the people that had spread the video, as well as, pursue action against Seoul National University for discrimination. On the outside, he held his head high and fought for everything he believed in. However, when the lights were off and it was just their group, he let his exhaustion show through. What was the sense in hiding it when they all knew how not okay he truly was?

For the first few nights, he slept on Seonghwa and Hongjoong's couch. It was then that they caught him whispering secrets to the moon. Seonghwa had asked him what he was doing, but when Yunho looked at him, the only thing he could see was the desperation that coursed through the younger man's veins. In a heartbreaking admission, Yunho said, "I'm letting him know that I'll always be here and that I still love him." When Seonghwa pulled his head into his lap, the boy continued, "I don't think I'll ever stop; even if he didn't know." It felt like hours before Yunho fell asleep like that; the eldest's fingers running through the silky strands at the nape of his neck. Hours before Seonghwa could let the tears fall silently.

Now, sitting around their kitchen table, Seonghwa can only wonder how he feels. San and Wooyoung wrapped around each other like vines in an orchard. Hongjoong doing the same to Seonghwa himself. Jongho searching for answers regarding their missing friend; the possibility of Yeosang still being out there somewhere. Why had Yeosang appeared for them, but Mingi was nowhere to be seen? 

Jongho sets the blurry photo on the table. "I'll go call Dami." With that, he exits the room with little ceremony. From across the table, San sighs.

"Might as well have everything happen now, right?" It's soft. His voice is hardly above a whisper as he curls into Wooyoung's side. "I don't understand why there's never any time to breathe. What kind of God gets off on watching people suffer?"

"San—" Wooyoung starts, flinching when San's palms connect with the table's surface. 

"No!" San cries, standing from his seat. "It's bullshit! You all expect me to believe people— good fucking people— have fates that end in suffering when others get to go peacefully? Where is the sense in that?" He pushes his hair out of his eyes with trembling fingers. "Who believes in empty promises?" It comes out shaky as Wooyoung gently pulls him back into the seat beside him. No one speaks as the younger presses his mouth to San's ear and pulls him close. The soothing whispers that Wooyoung offers are enough to make San's breathing slow.

In the distance, Seonghwa can hear the muffled conversation that Jongho has with his friend. It's full of laughter, but the kind where his heart hasn't been in it for months. The ghostly reflection of who he once was; a bright-eyed student too smart for his own good. A boy whose gummy smile split the heavens. A boy. Jongho was just a boy, younger than all of them, who was forced to grow up way too quickly. He supposed they all had that in common. 

When Jongho turns the corner, phone call disconnected, he lifts the photo from the table. "Dami asked if I could bring the other polaroids as well. It will be easier for her to compare features that way. Do you mind, hyung?" For a moment, Seonghwa wants to yell. He wants to decline and cradle the pictures like his children. Like the pieces of film hold their missing souls in their grainy material. A photo cannot bring back the dead. So instead, he nods gently and pushes the other pieces in Jongho's direction. 

"Maybe, take a picture of them with your phone? In case something goes wrong," Hongjoong offers with a sheepish smile. "I know how you are about this kind of thing."

"They are one of a kind," Wooyoung offers. "It'd be a shame to lose them, so I think Hongjoong is right, hyung." Seonghwa nods and pulls out his cell. Within seconds, he has scanned them all into a PDF to share with the group. "Mr. Technology," Wooyoung laughs as he accepts the AirDrop.

Quietly, Yunho says, "It's weird that we can all do that now. Mingi was the only one with an Android." The statement does not bring the usual tension. Instead, it draws a weird sort of choked laughter from Hongjoong. As though the dam has broken, the room falls into an orchestral procession of guffaws and giggles. It's boisterous and annoying, but so-very-them. Even as Jongho brushes the tears from his eyes, his grin is enough to make the room feel a hundred times lighter. The rainbow after the storm.

"I'll give them back when I come home. Dami said it should only take a day or two, so I'm just going to stay in Busan until she's done." 

"When are you leaving?" Hongjoong asks, pouring a glass of lemonade for himself. "I can't imagine too soon."

"Tomorrow," Jongho says, watching the others' eyes widen immediately. No one speaks for a breath. And then, all at once, chaos is let loose. Wooyoung chokes on his own drink gracefully.

"Tomorrow? Tomorrow is the memorial." He says, mouth popping into an 'o'. "You're going to miss Mingi's memorial?"

Jongho frowns and shakes his head. "Actually," he says softly, "I was going to ask if there's a chance we can postpone it. Mingi is— was basically my brother. I can't miss something like this." He frowns and picks at imaginary lint on his t-shirt. "Even so, if there's a chance to find Yeosang, I'm taking it. I can't choose a battle," he whispers. "So, I'd rather fight in both."

Seonghwa feels his throat close up. "That's fine, bud," he says quietly. "Mingi needs you there. We need you there. So, we'll wait for you to come home." But Jongho never comes home.

It is August 9th when Choi Jongho leaves for Busan; when they were supposed to celebrate Mingi's life. It is August 10th when Dami calls Hongjoong to ask if Jongho had left town. It is August 10th when they contact the police for the umpteenth time. It is August 10th when Choi Jongho disappeared without a trace. It is August 13th when he is considered a missing person. It is August 14th when they uncover his bag, laptop, photos, and money all intact, in the bushes near the bus stop Jongho would have used to get to the train station. It is August 14th when the town becomes hyper-aware that something is amiss. 

It is August 14th.

It is August.

**_TWENTY - OCTOBER_ **

Sparks fly off of the brilliant fire that crackles between them. It had been San’s idea, to come out to the lake and get absolutely shit-faced instead of face their actual problems. There they were: the five who never left. The ones who stayed in town to watch their dreams become something safe, achievable. The five who dropped out of college after the first year, understandably, and instead had no idea where to go with the rest of their lives. 

Yunho, whose heart had been shattered beneath a heavy hammer’s weight over and over. His once vibrant smile now a dull shadow of what it had once been. San, who once knew how to clear up the cloudiest sky with a bit of well-intended hype, could hardly muster up the courage to meet anyone’s eye. Hongjoong, who had overcome so much already found love in golden liquid. Seonghwa, who saw the beauty in everything, could hardly see past Yeosang’s seemingly ever-present figure. Wooyoung, whose laugh bounced like a rubber ball between the floor and ceiling, could hardly pull the sound from his throat. Maybe in another life, they would have been better off. Happier. But here, they were miserable. Set alight by the agony of the ghosts of their past. 

“I’m going swimming,” San says suddenly and stands from his fabric lawn chair. “Come with if you want to or roast.” It’s like igniting the entire group. All at once, they tumble over each other to reach the water. And despite it’s cold, lapping waves, it feels incredible. It’s as though the weight of the world dissolves as they drift. 

For a moment, Seonghwa wonders how nice it would be. To dip beneath the waves and never resurface. To let the lake consume him and pull him so far under the surface that he could never escape. It’s only when fingers wrap around his wrist that he startles out of his revelry. Hongjoong’s warm, heavy-lidded eyes stare back. Wordlessly, the man’s hands push beneath his sodden shirt and run up the plane of his bare stomach. 

Seonghwa leans down just enough to slot their lips together. He knows the rules. He knows the rules, and yet, when Hongjoong’s tongue brushes along the seam of his mouth, he doesn’t tell him to stop. When he uses the tip to tickle the underbelly of the roof of the older’s mouth, coaxing a deep groan from the back of his throat, Seonghwa threads his fingers through the damp blond strands of Hongjoong’s hair to pull him closer. Carefully, he sucks on the intrusion and drags his own tongue beneath Hongjoong’s. The sensitive muscle jumps as Hongjoong makes a guttural sound and wraps his legs around Seonghwa’s midsection. Seonghwa brings up a knee, hoping to steady the younger man. 

He’s hard, and obviously so, as he ruts against Seonghwa’s leg in search of any bit of friction. His mouth, annoying and hot, drags down the brunette’s jaw, biting marks into the flesh as Seonghwa slaps a hand over his own lips to keep from yelping. The others were in their own world. He didn’t have to look to know it. He can hear the way Wooyoung produces some kind of high-pitched keening as Yunho pulls him to the shore alongside San. 

The three had started as a way to relieve stress. Yunho had been miserable, desperate for anything, and Wooyoung had been the first to jump at the chance to bring him into their relationship. San and Wooyoung both found comfort through physicality. And, so it seemed, did Yunho. Over the last month, the older of the three had begun to brighten. While it was nowhere near the point he used to be, Seonghwa had to wonder if there was a chance for recovery; to be happy. 

“Where’s your mind?” Hongjoong slurs against the bare skin of his chest. Another well-placed nip makes Seonghwa gasp as the younger laps at the injury. “S’rry, too much.”

Before Seonghwa can answer though, the unmistakable sound of a flash going off catches his attention. In the distance, he watches the light fade instantaneously, but not before he’s already pulling Hongjoong toward the shore. His lover squeaks loudly as Seonghwa practically bridal carries him out of the water and past their friends who seem to be enjoying themselves way too much. 

“Seonghwa!” Hongjoong yells, grabbing a towel from the pile as he chases his boyfriend. “What’s wrong?” The older tears towards the treeline, trailed by Hongjoong.

“Someone was there! They took a fucking picture of us,” he bellows, hoping the person is still within earshot. It’s only a few more steps when he sees it. The Polaroid camera, his first, sitting perfectly upright on a mossy patch. The Polaroid camera that he particularly left on the kitchen table of their house. The Polaroid camera that his parents gave him and Hongjoong’s father painstakingly fixed time after time. 

“Is that–”

“Police,” Seonghwa stutters, already backtracking their path quickly. “Joong, we need to go call the police. Baby, we need to go,” he repeats himself over and over; mind fuzzy with panic and alcohol spun terror. Hongjoong nods frantically, stumbling along with him hand in hand. 

When they tear back onto the beach, the other three have finished whatever shenanigans they had gotten up to. Wet sand clings to Yunho’s bare ass as he stands in the shallow end of the lake; shamelessly washing himself and San. Wooyoung, on the other hand, sits on the beach wearing only Yunho’s oversized ‘Guess?’ t-shirt. His heavy-lidded eyes meet Seonghwa’s as he smiles dopily. 

“Where’d you–” He cuts his question short, finally wading through his intoxicated haze enough to take in the couple’s blanch expressions. “Why do you have that camera? I thought you stopped using it because–” 

“Because you didn’t want to break it,” Yunho finishes, appearing beside his boyfriend. San follows slowly, his cat-like eyes wide, and tosses Yunho a discarded pair of pants from the edge of the water. “These are yours, babe.” He holds the fabric out to Wooyoung who only pouts. 

“This shirt is fine.”

“That’s my shirt,” Yunho says. “And while it looks absolutely fuckable on you, I would like to wear something home.” Wooyoung rolls his eyes and begins to strip again. 

Seonghwa, having grown unphased by human nakedness in his one semester of art school, only presses on. Panic still lacing through his veins, he can hardly push the words from his throat. “Someone took a picture of us and then took off,” he explains. “This camera? I left it on our kitchen table. Someone fucking broke into my house, specifically found this shit, and followed us here.”

“You don’t think it’s Yeosang’s dad, do you?” San asks. The suggestion immediately makes the group fall silent. “What? You know he hated all of us. He thought we were the reason Yeosang wanted out of the company. He’s probably the same bastard who had him and Jongho kidnapped. Fuck, he probably leaked Mingi’s sex tape–”

“Don’t,” Yunho growls, “call it a sex tape. Don’t you ever fucking call it a sex tape.” The older’s eyes darken as he turns on San. “I love you with all of my being, but never speak of that video as anything other than what it was. It was evidence of rape.” San nods slowly, silently, until Yunho takes a step forward to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “I love you, Sannie, but please. This is all I ask.”

Hongjoong’s trembling fingers find Seonghwa’s. “As much as I appreciate the theorizing,” he whispers, “I think we need to call the police. I don’t know if it’s safe to walk home right now.”

“You’re right,” Wooyoung says, standing carefully. His legs wobble just a bit as he tries to steady himself. “If we weren’t trashed, I’d say maybe we could hold a candle to someone trying to knock us down. Right now, though? I can barely feel my toes.”

By the time three officers arrive at the lake, Wooyoung is dozing quietly against Yunho’s shoulder and San on the other. They lead the boys through the woods, making light conversation, and explain that they already sent another squad to check the house. One of the men, a short guy with curly brown hair, offers a sympathetic smile as he tries to answer all of Hongjoong’s questions. 

“Are they looking for signs of a break-in? Do they check to see if the intruder is still in the house? Will they actually do something about it? If there was a break-in, do we have to pay for damages?” It’s a rambling panic that is only silenced bit by bit as the man tries his best to cover the bases. 

“Yes, they are looking for signs and they will take care of the intruder if they happen to still be on the premises. If they are not, however, it may be a lengthier investigation. We would advise that you stay elsewhere, in that case, while we work to guarantee that it does not happen again. If you have house insurance, that should be enough to cover minor damages.” The man pauses. “You said that the camera was in your house when you left tonight?”

Seonghwa nods, his fingers intertwining with Hongjoong’s. “Yes,” he says. “I no longer use it, and it has sentimental value, so I keep it on our kitchen table as a centerpiece.”

“A memory, you mean,” San whispers from behind them. Seonghwa nods. It was truly a memory. Everything about the little metal box meant the world to him. 

The officer hums. “I do not mean to startle you, but is there anyone that has a grudge against you?” The question catches Seonghwa off-guard. “This seems to be a targeted event.”

“Not that I know of,” Hongjoong replies. Immediately, Seonghwa feels the presence of another appear beside them. He does not have to glance in that direction to know that Yeosang now walks every step of the way with them. However, when he does look that way, the man’s expression is panicked. He knows what it would look like if he spoke to him. And apparently, Yeosang understands his apprehension as well. 

_ Red. Dark. Red. Room. Dark. Home. _

Each word is more broken than the one before. It’s when Seonghwa tries to do anything, to show him that he does not understand, Yeosang’s figure vanishes. Hongjoong taps his arm twice. A knowing look ripples over his features as he takes in the bewilderment on Seonghwa’s face. For the rest of the journey, Yeosang’s eyes do not leave his mind.

When they pull up to the house, Hongjoong makes a bizarre noise in the back of his throat. “We should go to my mom’s,” the younger says softly. “I really don’t want to stay here.” He watches carefully as the officers come out of the building. “Even if they say everything is okay, I’d feel safer if we just spent the night somewhere else.” Behind them, Yunho bristles as the police approach them. 

“I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you both this,” the man says, “but it does seem that there was someone in your house after you left. While there doesn’t appear to be any damage, there was a note left on the table.” The officer passes Seonghwa an evidence baggie. 

Inside, a polaroid photo stares back at them. The exposure rate had been left far too high, but Seonghwa immediately recognizes the compromising position that he and Hongjoong were in at the lake. Bile rolls in his stomach as he reads the heavy black scrawl scratched across the base of the picture. 

_ Back soon. _

“We think it best for you to seek alternative accommodations while we survey the area over the next few days. In most cases like this, the perp doesn’t come back. You all seem like great kids, though,” he says, eyes flickering over the five. “So, I’m just giving you full disclosure. Don’t let your guard down.” The man hands the bag to another cop as he trades him for a clipboard. “I’m just going to have you guys sign this for tonight. It shows that you are giving us permission to post watch outside. We can go through a full case report tomorrow afternoon; after you all get some rest.”

It’s almost a funny thought. Resting after having your life flip upside down for the millionth time. Seonghwa only nods, however, and takes the pen from the man. As the file rotates around the circle, it feels almost as though they are selling their souls to catastrophe. The officer collects the board again and offers them a tired smile. 

“We’ll come with you inside so you can gather your necessities and then drop you off at your designated location.” 

“Thank you. We’ll only be staying at his parents’ house around the block, though, so there is no need to drive us,” Seonghwa says as the man leads them through their own home. The officer tries to argue back, but Seonghwa just smiles tiredly. “I promise, it’s quite alright. I used to walk there in the dark all of the time as a child.” The rest of the experience goes by with dreamlike-orience. It’s like going through the motions with blinders on. Nothing registers. Everything is simply numb. And maybe, he does not hate the feeling. 

Instead of going back to their own homes, the other three insist on accompanying Seonghwa and Hongjoong for the night. Yunho and San disguise it as an interest in seeing Hyejin again, Hongjoong explains with a distant laugh that only Seojun was home. Hyejin had gone to visit Hongjoong’s older brother, Hajoon, in Seoul. 

However, Wooyoung blatantly mumbles that he doesn’t want to leave their sides. “If I can see where you are, then no one else can disappear.” For a moment, Seonghwa doesn’t think he was supposed to hear the confession. Wooyoung, who bickered playfully with everyone. Wooyoung, who mourned Yeosang silently and instead strove to make others laugh with him. Wooyoung, who thought of the future, but never lost his grip on the present. 

“We’re not going to disappear,” Hongjoong whispers, acknowledging Wooyoung’s struggle. “You can’t get rid of your annoying hyungs no matter how hard you try, Wooyoungie.” Hongjoong reaches out to pinch Wooyoung’s nose with a smile. The man squeals and bats at the older’s hand just as Seonghwa works the key into the lock of Hongjoong’s childhood home. Within a second, the door is opening and Hongjoong is already barreling forward. “Seonjun!” He calls, glancing around the pitch-black house. 

“He never goes to bed this early,” Seonghwa whispers, setting their bags inside the door as he slips his shoes off. It’s then that the scent fills his senses and lights his nerves up like a firework. It’s the tang of vinegar and rotten eggs. Overpowering and painful, it is tinged with something else. The sickly sweet drip of earth, musk, and meat. Seonghwa fights the urge to gag as the rest of the group pushes open the door. 

“What the fuck?” Yunho chokes out, pulling the fabric of his t-shirt over his nose. “Why does your house smell like ass?” Hongjoong turns around, skin drained of all color, as he shakes his head slowly. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers, taking a step back. “I don’t know.” Seonghwa moves forward and pushes Hongjoong behind him. Covering his nose with his elbow, he takes a step further into the threshold. “You don’t think the person broke in here too, do you?”

Seonghwa shakes his head. Whatever happened here doesn’t seem to be recent. Hyejin had only left the house three nights prior and the two had not stopped by to check on Seojun. They didn’t think they had to. As the five walk the dark house, Seonghwa feels the terror leaching into his bones. 

“Should we call the police again?” San asks, his fingers intertwined with Yunho and Wooyoung’s. His boyfriends’ wear dual expressions of pure horror as they turn the corner and come face-to-face with the basement’s open door. The air turns to ice as the hair on Seonghwa’s arms stands at attention. In front of them, Yeosang develops into existence. “Seonghwa?” San asks. 

“Call them,” he whispers, taking a step toward Yeosang. “What’s down there, Sangie?” Yeosang only shakes his head and tries to herd Seonghwa away from the space. His transparent fingers slip right through Seonghwa’s chest. It would be cute, the way Yeosang pouts in frustration and stomps his foot silently, if not for the drumming panic in his ribs. Like a caged bird, Seonghwa takes a step forward. “Yeosang.” 

_ Leave. Wait for the police. Please. _

“We can’t do that,” Seonghwa whispers, his palm reaching out to brush Yeosang’s cheek tenderly. There is no feeling. There is nothing to touch. There is only cold. It’s like sticking one’s hand into a cooler filled with ice while trying to fish out a Screwdriver for a boyfriend. It’s like the numb drip that spills down spines when the world crashes around them. It’s like being alive, but at the same time, so very far from it. There was never a question whether or not Yeosang was still with them. Seonghwa has always known, deep down, that there were not always happy endings for everyone. “Please.” 

_ Darkroom. Pictures. Jongho,  _ Yeosang chokes out, stepping to the side. It’s like getting punched in the stomach three separate times. Vinegar and sulfur, Yeosang had told them all those months ago. All he knew was vinegar, sulfur, and red. The developing chemicals in the darkroom always had the distinct scent of those bitter acids. The only safe light for photos in a darkroom was something tinted red or amber. 

All these months, Yeosang had been directly beneath their feet. His graveyard was a home. Seonghwa closes his eyes and takes the first step, motioning for the others to stand behind him. Each stair is like a backward escalator. He does not want to go further. It’s like something draws him back upstairs; away from the growing sweet scent. Rot. They had been smelling rot. 

It’s when they round the edge of the staircase and enter the main portion of the darkroom that Seonghwa immediately throws up on the tile. The scent of decay is overpowering. It’s like the time his mother left a full carton of eggs in a hot car for nearly a week. The way the maggots climbed over their spoiled shells and wriggled on the velvety seat cushions sticks in his mind. 

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, ignoring the way the others heave and gag in a similar fashion. It was his job as the oldest to see this through to the end. Even as San babbles something incoherent to the operator, begging them to hurry up. Even as he sees the dozens of photos dangling from the strings hung haphazardly around the room. When Hongjoong’s father was alive, it would have never looked like this. So out of touch. So chaotic. 

On the walls, hundreds of notebook pages are pasted. Their surfaces scrawled with a deep black ink that at first appears to be coherent, but instead falls into absolute babblings about the truth of life and death. Seonghwa covers his mouth as he turns the pages of a black binder with the phrase, ‘08’, written on its cover. Inside, photos of mutilation appear one after another. At first, none of them show the victim’s face. Instead, they are all the dismembered limbs with various levels of grotesque mutilation. Paired with each is a set of lines. Seonghwa realizes by the end that when the phrases are placed in order, they create a dramatic poem about the life and death of a student.

It takes only one more page to see the image he will never get out of his mind for the rest of his years. Yeosang’s decapitated head, a black lace blindfold covering his eyes, is positioned in a garden of red higanbana and white lilies. The garden that rests in the backyard of Seonghwa’s childhood home. The moon hits his skin with a silver-laden glow. At the bottom, the photo is dated, ‘ _ April 29th. _ ’ 

“He’s dead,” Seonghwa says slowly. It hits him all at once. The reality, the crashing wave that sends him spiraling, the suffocating pressure that threatens to push them all beneath the water and never let them surface again. “Oh my god,” he cries, slamming into the tile. “Oh my god, oh my god.” It’s a chant. Over and over, he screams until his throat is raw and the pain overcomes him. All five men find their way into the exact position. In the distance, the operator yells for San to respond to her desperate pleas; to let her know they are alright. Sometimes, it is okay to not be alright. 

Seonghwa knows what they will find if they open any of the binders after that. He knows that there have to be other victims; that no killer so meticulous would ever start at the number 8. But then, the realization hits him. The group was made of eight. It’s as though the thought sobers him up within an instant. 

“Where’s Seojun?” Seonghwa’s scratchy voice utters. “Where the fuck is Seojun?”

“I don’t know,” Hongjoong says softly, rubbing his eyes. “Do you think he did this?” Seonghwa nods, but does not speak. He knows that Seojun is responsible. That Hongjoong’s own stepfather attacked his son’s friends, brutalized them, and photographed them. He knows that the man wrote morbid poetry as though he was God constructing art in the image of a muse. He also knows, without a doubt, that his goal was to do it again and again until there was no one left. 

Seonghwa wanders the space, turning on his phone flash-light, and shines it over the photographs that hang from the strings. Each one is a picture of the boys. None of them are looking at the camera. Seonghwa pressing Hongjoong into their mattress. Yeosang kissing Jongho’s cheek. Yunho staring wistfully at Mingi during a movie night. San and Wooyoung draped over each other at the lake. Yunho between Wooyoung’s legs. Hongjoong laughing over dinner. Mingi leaving Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s apartment on the day of his suicide. Every photo part of a morbid collection of the man’s fascination with stalking his step-child. 

It’s when he reaches the end of the photos that he sees it. All he focuses on is the way Jongho’s eyelashes brush his cheeks. At a glance, he looks angelic. As though nothing could touch him or remove him from this world. Seonghwa does not look any closer. “We should go upstairs,” he whispers. “The police should be here soon. And–”

“Jongho’s down here,” Wooyoung utters breathlessly. “He’s down here, isn’t he? The bastard fucking took him because he knew we were going to look at that picture. Where’s Yeosang? Where did he put Yeosang?” His words filter into broken sobs as Hongjoong works through his own tears to lead the group back up the stairs. 

“The last thing we need,” he whispers, “is to find him ourselves.” 

It’s as they sit on the street curb, waiting for the police to take them to Yunho’s house, that Seonghwa watches Yeosang appear across the street. He waves gently and immediately Seonghwa remembers April 29th. The way Yeosang stood in the corner of the room, waiting patiently for Seonghwa to see him. To really see him. In a split second, the man is gone again. Somehow, Seonghwa knows it is not the last time they will see each other. 

“Sir?” An officer approaches the group cautiously. “We found the suspect. It appears to be an apparent suicide.” The man glances at his shoes for a moment before meeting Hongjoong’s eyes. “I understand he was your stepfather?” Hongjoong nods silently. “We’ve contacted your mother and brother. However, we believe it is important to inform you that he left an audio recording of his MO. If you would like to hear it, we will need you to come down to the station–”

“I don’t want to,” Hongjoong interrupts. “I want this entire experience to be as far out of my life as possible. He doesn’t get to have the final word.” His voice hardly can handle the pressure of the words. The officer just nods slowly. 

“We’ve found two victims. Do you believe there are more?”

Seonghwa shakes his head. “I think there were supposed to be, but he couldn’t catch us in time.” His breathing halts painfully. “Did you say two victims?”

The man before them nods. “It will take sampling to figure out exactly who they are, but I’m pretty sure you already know.” Seonghwa feels the rest of the group tense up. Hongjoong’s grip finds his waist. 

Softly, Yunho asks, “Where were they?”

“I’m not at liberty to–”

“Please,” Wooyoung begs, falling to his knees. “Where were they?” The officer pinches the bridge of his nose. Sighing, his shoulders droop.

“The most recent was found in the darkroom. It appears he had been dismembered and separated into various plastic containers. I believe that his goal was easy transportation and cleanup.” He releases his hold on the sensitive bit of flesh between his eyes. His gaze falls onto Seonghwa’s with pity. “The older of the two was found in two locations. A cadaver dog alerted us to your back garden, Park Seonghwa and Kim Hongjoong. I will spare you the gruesome details, but it appears that someone tried to leave you an ill-intended gift. The rest of the victim’s body was uncovered by the old train tracks near the lake.”

Seonghwa feels his stomach drop and hardly makes it to the sewer grate by the time he is dry heaving. There is nothing left to give. Nothing, even as the officer alerts them that their ride has arrived. Nothing as Hongjoong tries to pull him from the asphalt. Nothing as the two fall against each other in a mess of sobs and memories flashing around them like a silver-screen montage. For the first time, Seonghwa has nothing left to give. 

It was October. 

**_TWENTY - OCTOBER - Continued_ **

In the sea of black, he can hardly make out the four figures he longs most to stand beside. It’s three steps forward. A glance towards the closed casket at the front of the gathering. Because of course, it’s closed. It could never have stayed open. The white lilies that rest on top its dark mahogany beckon him like a searchlight in the dark. It’s three steps forward when an arm snakes around his waist.  _ When did he get so thin? _

“Another funeral,” someone says. “Why do bad things happen to good people?”

“All people are good,” Seonghwa says, pressing a kiss to his boyfriend’s temple. “We just happened to know the best ones.” He watches as Yeosang’s father approaches his son’s casket with all of the subtle grace of a total stranger. What surprises him is the way the man sobs as he kneels before the wooden box. “Some people actually are the worst.” 

Beside him, San laughs softly. “I pity him,” he says. “Sometimes, I thought Yeosang was being dramatic. The more I listened, though, I realized that his dad was really just that much of a pathetic asshole.” He nearly purrs when one of his boyfriends throws his arm over his shoulder and pulls him against his side. Wooyoung chuckles as Yunho tugs him close with the other arm. They’re a precious trio. Even if the sound of them all sharing a room at night makes Seonghwa want to gag. Thank god Yunho had just moved into a larger apartment and had a spare room available. Between the garden and the darkroom, both houses in Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s neighborhood were inaccessible. They held memories, both good and bad, and it had come time for them to move past them; to flip the hourglass once more and start over. 

“Tonight?” Seonghwa whispers.

“Tonight,” the group responds. “It’s finally time.”

It’s hardly past sunset when the five arrive at the place that had shared so much with them. The fading orange rays glitter on the lake’s surface, twinkling like a million dying stars, and Seonghwa can’t help but snap a single picture of the sight. This time, with the DSLR he bought in preparation for his online courses. Maybe, it was long overdue to take a break from polaroids and film. Hongjoong peers over his shoulder, giggling when Seonghwa swats him away from pressing a kiss to the curve of his neck. 

When the air turns cool, the group falls silent. Before them, Yeosang flickers into existence. In the diluted sunlight, he looks angelic. The glow casting a halo around his ethereal frame. He lifts a sweater paw to the crowd, chuckling when the others fall over themselves to get in the first word. Once they had uncovered his body and given him a proper ceremony, the man had found the strength to finally appear before all five. It’s with a teary laugh that Wooyoung falls to his knees. Yeosang’s eyes widen as he rushes to kneel in front of his old best friend. 

_ Are you alright?  _ The spirit asks, face glimmering with concern. Wooyoung watches the way his lips move– soundless as always– and he turns to Seonghwa with a cry. It takes at least three attempts before the eldest is able to identify what Wooyoung is saying. 

“Hyung, I have no idea what he asked me,” Wooyoung babbles through a wet sob. Seonghwa chuckles and glances to Yeosang. The man has the audacity to laugh behind his hand.

“He asked if you’re alright,” Seonghwa says, watching the way Yeosang’s head bobs as he nods. “You just have to read his lips.” It isn’t like Wooyoung would have time to adjust to the process. Not when these were Yeosang’s final moments with them. 

Wooyoung squawks loudly and polishes the sound off with a broken cry. “No, I’m not alright!” He yells, thrashing around wildly and pretending to punch Yeosang’s non-corporeal form. “You’re supposed to be my best friend forever, yet somehow, you got yourself killed.”

Yeosang rolls his eyes dramatically.  _ Time is a construct,  _ he says. _ I don’t remember agreeing to die.  _ The last bit breaks off into a giggle as Wooyoung pouts.

“Whatever,” he says, glancing around the clearing. “Where are Mingi and Jongho?”

_ They’re here. Mingi can’t appear to everyone so he’s with Yunho.  _ The group glances to the tallest boy, who sobs wildly. No one had noticed the two falling into conversation. Just like old times, they were in their own world. However, it was endearing to see Yunho finally get closure and watch his face light up as his fingers settled over the soft flesh of his cheek.  _ Mingi gave him a kiss. _

At Yeosang’s words, Wooyoung lets out a battle cry. San bounds over to Yunho and jumps onto his back wildly. “Mingi-yah! That’s our boyfriend you’re trying to make out with.” San wiggles around Yunho’s shoulders until he is able to look the man in the eye. “What did he say to you? You’re not about to ditch us for some ghost-hunk, are you?” Yunho laughs loudly and pulls San down into a kiss. 

“Not unless you two have some weird Danny Phantom abilities you haven’t told me about.”

“They were supposed to be a secret,” Wooyoung jokes, pressing a kiss to Yunho’s nose. “But I guess you might as well know.”

It’s when the sun finally disappears beneath the horizon that Yeosang smiles sadly.  _ We have to go soon. You know we’ll see each other again some time, right?  _

“Of course we will,” Hongjoong mumbles, eyes brimming with tears. “We spent our summer with you and we didn’t even know.” Yeosang’s gaze drifts in the direction of the train tracks. The makeshift resting place that his body was forced into. The disdainful look passes quickly. 

_ That wasn’t me. It was, but not in the end. By the time they found me, those were just bones in a mound beneath the earth. I haven’t been part of that body since that moment my soul left it.  _ Yeosang’s eyes crinkle at the edges.  _ Jongho says thank you, by the way.  _ The boys watch as Yeosang’s fingers intertwine with something invisible. _ For not giving up on him. On any of us. We’ll watch over you; wherever we’re going. _ This time, he does not cover up the toothy grin he gives the group.  _ See you around.  _

For a moment, Yeosang’s form wavers. And then suddenly, it is like watching three, small shooting stars twist and twirl around each other. They flicker once, and then twice, before vanishing entirely. The warmth leaks back into the world around them carefully; as though testing its limits. 

“They’re gone?” Wooyoung asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Yunho says, pulling his lovers close. “They are.”

Seonghwa does not speak. Instead, he leans his head on Hongjoong’s shoulder with a soft sigh. There are days when words seem to fail. When the evening waltz is too beautiful to crowd with preoccupied thought and relentless worry. Tonight, he will remember to love the present and live for the future. Tonight could be all they had.

It was October.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ☽ Hello, loves! Thank you for so much for reading this fic. It was relatively a difficult thing to write, but I wanted the chance to expand my style. I probably won't do another like this for a bit, so please don't expect anything similar in the upcoming months. 
> 
> However, we're onto the next fantasy project! Stick around for The Magicians AU that I'll be posting in the next week or so. 
> 
> As always, find me on Twitter: @KyojinOuji
> 
> I post a lot of updates and always follow back.
> 
> Cheers!
> 
> \- Baz ☾


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